


Aftermaths

by camphollstein



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, Minor Violence, Misgendering, Slytherin Carmilla, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camphollstein/pseuds/camphollstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the wake of Voldemort's defeat, Carmilla gets a letter dropped on her cereal. And then two more, because the owl has no concern for her nutrition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first year

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: 1) there is misgendering during the first three chapters. i'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable; please, if it rubs you the wrong way, don't hesitate to close the tab. it'll end after that. 2) there's some violence in this chapter.
> 
> i know right, another harry potter au. bear with me.

She's so worried about starting school that she stays up all night and ends up looking dead on her feet at King's Cross.

Ms. Spielsdorf, their caretaker, takes the trio by car to the station. She's probably the nicest person to ever work for them; Mattie personally handpicked her somewhere in her travels, and offered a large sum for taking care of the younger Karnsteins. Sadly, even her biting sarcasm and jokes can't make up for the fact that Mattie couldn't come, and that they're some of the only kids without their parents.

But Ms. Spielsdorf is kind enough to help them load their baggage into carts and to take them out to the entrance. She's not a witch, though – the only squib in her family – so she can't quite bring herself to go inside. JP offers a teary goodbye, hugging her torso; the other two siblings only nod, Will with a slight smile.

Platform 9 3/4 is packed. Tiny wizards romper about, their enormous trunks causing the racket that immediately hits them. A tall man in the middle of the crowd directs lost students to the train.

The trio efficiently weaves their way through the crowd, moving as an unit, and in less than half and hour they're seated in one of the back cabins. Carmilla curls up on a window seat with Will, while JP uses the free seat by him to put his feet up.

Carmilla chooses to spend the ride sleeping, with Will and JP prattling in the background. Somewhere in the first minutes of leaving the station, a group of people ask to sit; she doesn't open her eyes, tuning them out just as quickly as she does her brothers. One of them, though, has a crackling voice, like tinfoil being folded up, and it starts to bug her so much that she frowns in her sleepy state.

It's not until the train finally pulls up that she looks up; a pair of gingers sit by JP- they greet her with too much enthusiasm, and her slow mind only musters up a nod.

Maybe she offended them. That's all right.

After changing into their robes, the group files out of the Hogwarts Express. Unsurprisingly, once the first years are all set up in a line, the lack of upperclassmen is even more noticeable. Which, surely, is to be expected- Hogwarts has been somewhat avoided by many wealthy families, in favor of sending their children off to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons.

At least, the fact that they're here means there might be a good amount of trust reacquired.

“I thought it was a joke,” Will says, as they descend to the lake. “We actually have to row to the castle?”

JP shrugs. “I guess. Sounds fun.”

Will glares at his brother, who just smiles in that wholesome way only he gets away with. Carmilla stifles a yawn and points forward.

“Maybe someone falls. That'd be fun.”

“Wishing for death on the first day? Kitty, you're really setting your goals high.”

“Not death, necessarily- maybe the squid catches them or something. It'd be funny.”

They squeeze into a tiny boat, still debating the morals of knocking someone into the water. JP is against it, simply because he doesn't see the point; Will thinks it would be fun but not worth being caught; and Carmilla can't reach anyone with her oar, so she ends up giving up.

Her smart-ass reply gets lost in her lungs as the enormous silhouette of Hogwarts appears. A smattering of lit rooms and escaping rays of light illuminates the dark night; it's so beautiful that a couple of kids around them gasp and point.

Her astonishment continues as they leave the lake for the front gates. A professor opens the door with some difficulty; the groundskeeper helps her, his coat managing to catch some first-years' heads and shoulders. After that, they're let into the largest room Carmilla has ever seen- the ceiling goes up and up, until she can't count all the stories.

But they hardly have time for that; the ceremony was supposed to have started already, and the clueless students are hurried into the Great Hall.

Carmilla's neck is going to be sore from all this looking up; the stars look beautiful on the ceiling, presiding over them with quiet wisdom. She looks for a bit too long, though; they suddenly stop walking and she bumps into someone. With the apology ready on her tongue, she meets the hostile eyes of a tall girl.

Still, she apologizes, because Mattie didn't raise her to be impolite.

“Welcome back,” McGonagall begins. A hush falls over the crowd. “To another year at Hogwarts.”

She continues her announcements, but Carmilla's focus wanes as nervousness creeps in. By Her right, JP grasps for her hand- Will does the same by her left, as the Karnsteins stare at the tattered hat sitting in front of them.

“Doesn't matter where we end up,” she says under her breath. “We're not-”

“Yeah,” the two reply in unison. Will adds, “We're better.”

She's worried not only for herself, but for Will and JP. Will is quiet and aloof like her, but he really carries his heart on his sleeve- and JP has always been so innocent and warm. If something happens- if she can't stay with either of them...

When a professor starts calling out names, her stomach churns.

Something odd happens, as they reach the letter 'H'. A tingle in her spine startles her out of her tense state and makes her look up, just as the professor calls out the next name.

“Hollis, Laura!”

A girl, shorter than one would expect an 11-year old to be, skips up to the stool. Her hair catches the light from the candles, shining as she spins to sit. Then it disappears inside the hat, the rim going down to the girl's nose. It stays there, for longer than it had anyone before, and even some upperclassmen start whispering after a while.

“Hufflepuff!” it finally says.

The girl smiles wide, hopping off her seat and taking off the hat. She sits at her table with a pretty twinkle in her eyes- she meets Carmilla's gaze by accident, and Carmilla ducks, cheeks flaming.

They speed through the rest of 'H' and 'J', and sooner than she'd like, they reach their names.

“Karnstein, Carmilla!”

The whispers and laughs stop, as she imagined they would. Steeling herself up, Carmilla walks up with a straight back and cold eyes.

“ _Well, well, well,”_ the Sorting Hat says when she puts it on. _“A Karnstein at last.”_

Her panic must shine through to it, for the tone of the next words is lighter.

“ _I will not sort you for your family's past. However, you are more of a Slytherin than many of your ancestors ever were.”_

“ _I am not them,”_ she thinks back forcefully. _“I am not my mother.”_

“Slytherin!”

The word echoes throughout the Great Hall. With a stuttering breath, she takes the hat off to meet the unseeing eyes of the audience- unseeing for they now look for the ghost of Lilith. But Carmilla isn't her- Lilith is  _dead_ ; and yet the children she left behind have to carry the burden of her sins.

After her, JP steps up. She lags in sitting down, staying close to the wooden seats. People already look at her distrustfully; but she's got eyes only for her brother.

“Slytherin!”

Frowns and shakes of the head come from the other side of the Hall; JP hurries out of the seat, almost forgetting to return the hat. He stands with Carmilla, both their postures rigid.

Will has his fists clenched. She doesn't have to imagine to know the fear that clamps down on his lungs- of all of them, the most impacted by Lilith's doings has always been her.

“Slytherin!”

A sense of finality and resentment settles over all three siblings when they sit down, side by side, at the Slytherin table. Even their housemates side-eye the triplets; there's a consensus that they've only inherited their mother's features- their father's soft face and dark skin are nowhere to be found.

JP slouches in his seat; Will sighs. Carmilla keeps her back straight and looks everyone in the eye.

 

 

 

When classes start, Carmilla really understands the warnings Mattie passed down to them.

The looks and the whispers from everyone – including some of the staff – follow them everywhere. Class with Gryffindor are the worst; the tall ginger, whose name she found to be Lawrence, is always glaring at them from her front row seat. The DADA professor, Walsh, often references the War to illustrate some points, and most eyes turn to the three at the back.

It gets to her. Carmilla isn't a social person by nature- she avoids talking and seeking people out, even her own siblings sometimes, and it doesn't help diffuse the idea of her being haughty. Will is just as quiet as she is, though his silence is caused by intense anxiety; JP likes people, though.

On the second month of classes, he shows up with two people at their spot by the library. She recognizes them as the two gingers from the Hogwarts Express; for JP's sake, she plasters on a less intimidating look when they come up.

“I found Perry and LaFontaine,” JP says happily. “Isn't it great?”

Will nods. “Good to see you guys again.”

They're an odd pair; LaFontaine's Ravenclaw tie is loose around the neck, her hair sticking up in all directions, while Perry is put together, her hair up in a bun and her yellow tie in a fancy-looking knot.

“We have Charms together, right?” LaFontaine asks Carmilla.

She's startled to be addressed. “Yes. You levitated your feather on your first try.”

LaFontaine grins. “I'm impressed with myself, believe me. Probably just a fluke. But you got there too?”

“Same time as you. Though not as high.”

That's the closest to a compliment Carmilla has ever given an acquaintance. She kind of respects the short Ravenclaw.

“I didn't get it,” Will tells them. “Maybe I've been saying the words wrong or something.”

“Probably.”

“We can help,” Perry responds; Carmilla's eyebrows raise. “Anytime.”

It obviously means more than just that- an offer of kindness to the Karnsteins is an olive branch she didn't expect from anyone. A pleasant feeling settles in her chest, like a cat preparing for slumber, and stays there as they continue to talk.

 

 

 

Carmilla sits behind Laura Hollis in Transfiguration.

She learns that she's friends with Perry, so much so that sometimes they come in together from somewhere else after free period; that she's muggleborn and is fascinated by Quidditch mechanics; and that she's got a natural gift at Charms.

For some unknown reason, Carmilla keeps  _staring_ at her. She really shouldn't, because if one of her brothers catches her, she'll never hear the end of it- but Laura is nice, nicer than any of their classmates, and she's always happy and bubbly. It's hard not to notice her, and when you start looking there's just no way back.

But she never quite manages to talk to her. At most, her shyness lets her give one-word replies; which are great for the reputation she's been stuck with, but terrible for the friendship she'd like to strike up with the Hufflepuff.

Eventually, somewhere in the middle of November, she gives up on trying and accepts the role of Perry's weird silent friend.

 

 

 

One thing that Carmilla enjoys is the Flying lessons with Gryffindor. Yes, she'd rather the Jolly Red Giant eased up on the flybys she likes to do by her, but it's fun. The brooms are terrible, basically sticks of wood with wearing-off charms and almost no tails, but usually they rise up a good few meters on the air.

She trades off, at the start of classes, the broom assigned to her with JP. He's awful at flying- has always been, ever since Mattie tried to teach him, in one of the rare occasions she was home, and he nearly hit a tree and two cars. She lets him take the better Cleansweep Six, and accepts the Shooting Star he got.

It is, without question, the worst broom she's ever flown.

It shakes when she gets too high and sometimes veers off to the right on its own accord. Still, she makes a point to circle Lawrence at least twice every week. Lawrence might be a great flier – and she freely admits that – but Carmilla's ease in using the glorified stick calls for attention more often.

The flying teacher, Professor Breton, takes both of them to the side one day, during the last class before they stop for the snow. He tells both of them to try out for their house teams the following year. Happy, Carmilla tells the others at lunch.

“I'm trying out too,” LaFontaine whoops. “Always wanted to be a Keeper.”

Perry huffs. “Quidditch is dangerous- why would you ever want to ricochet around that far up the ground with a  _broom_ ?”

Carmilla smirks. “Because it's fun?”

“You should try it,” Will says, grinning. He's probably picturing the scene- Perry screeching atop a broom while being pelted by Bludgers. “Might do you some good.”

LaFontaine waggles her eyebrows. Perry rolls her eyes and doesn't answer.

 

 

 

Both gingers go home for the holidays.

Snow covers the grounds. The only non-white thing she can spot outside is Professor Hagrid's lumbering form as he goes about his day. She even waves at him one day; he waves back, a bit of his smile shining through his thick beard- she likes Professor Hagrid.

The inside of the castle is cold for a different reason.

Most students went home; just under twenty stay at Hogwarts. The Karnsteins can't go home- Ms. Spielsdorf is somewhere in Austria with her family, and Mattie is stuck at the US with business matters. So they just hang around the common room and the library, in various states of impatience.

JP loves Christmas- he's been excited since Halloween. Will likes the food, not as much as the gifts- they get many empty ones from pure-blood families keen on reviving old links, so they lost their appeal over time. Even Carmilla is somewhat happy this time- she got the gingers presents and she hopes they'll like them.

The day before Christmas, she leaves her brothers at the library in favor of going to her room for a nap. Her steps echo in the empty hallways; she likes being by herself, especially since she's grown up as part of a package deal, in which alone time was basically null.

She's halfway to the common room when she hears steps behind her. Thinking one of the boys decided to come too, she turns around to greet them; but it's a Gryffindor fourth-year making his way to her.

A small amount of panic sets in. Carmilla walks faster, hand going into her robe's pocket and holding her wand firmly.

“Oi, Karnstein!”

The guy does not let up; he speeds up and catches her by the elbow. She doesn't have time to react before he throws her against a wall. Her head knocks on the hard stone- her ears ring and she loses her vision for a couple of seconds.

“What's wrong, Death Eater?” he growls, face set into a sneer. “Can't take a bump to the head?”

“I'm not a Death Eater,” she mumbles, trying to catch her bearings. He presses her up again, his hands on her shoulders making it impossible to move her arms. “I swear.”

“Lots of them swore too.”

Mattie's advice of not giving him the time of day doesn't quite register; she's annoyed and in pain, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Go to Hell.”

He spits on her. She struggles to get out of his grasp, even as the pain makes it hard to think.

“You know what your little inbred mother did?” he says- she wants to scream for him to shut up, because _of course_ she knows what Lilith Karnstein did, but the Gryffindor's grip hurts a lot. “She murdered my uncle- she killed him right in front of his kids!”

“Stop,” she whispers. “Don't-”

A clicking of heels rings through the corridor. The boy glances between the adjoining hallway and back at Carmilla; in a split second, he shoves her again and runs off on the opposite direction.

 

 

 

 

Carmilla doesn't talk about it with anyone. Instead, she goes up to the DADA archives at the library and picks up all kinds of books on defensive spells, claiming a sudden interest in dueling.

Both her brothers are elated from Christmas still, so they don't question her much- besides, Carmilla has never been one for lying, so they have no reason to distrust her. When LaF and Perry return, they don't seem to notice her sunken eyes; but Perry gives her a hug on sight, thanking her profusely for the set of Self-Inking Quills she'd bought.

She smiles, for what feels like the first time in months, at Perry when they part. “Your quill was falling apart,” she justifies, though the actual reason is still known by all parties.

She gave LaF a Collapsible Cauldron; LaFontaine admits to have used it already.

“The potion blew up,” she says, proudly. Perry is not impressed. “It was grand.”

Not even LaFontaine's jokes or Perry's unwitting hilariousness manages to bring Carmilla back from the mood she fell into. Worry gnaws at her any time any of the boys go somewhere alone, even if to the bathroom, and many times she's changed routes at the sight of a red tie. There's a sense of unease that now cloaks most actions she takes.

One day, she finds the boy talking to Danny Lawrence. They're arguing about something, in low voices, by a pillar in the Great Hall. Carmilla can't get to lunch fast enough.

 

 

 

January ends with the pretty white snow turning into slush. It pools around the grounds, gluing to her shoes when they go out for Herbology, and makes everything slippery.

Obviously, JP and Will love it. Like the kids they are, the boys drag her out before dinnertime and jump around in the mud, levitating half-frozen earth onto each other. She laughs freely at it- a laugh only the boys and Mattie have heard. The only great thing about her year has been managing to stay in the same house as them.

LaFontaine and Perry are cool too, when they're not joined by the hip talking about some relative from each other's family. She still doesn't know if they're platonic or romantic soulmates, but she's working on it.

The boys go on a full-out mud war with some other first-years. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are a bit wary at first, but soon they are all best friends, laughing and throwing each other around. LaF joins them too, with Lawrence and Wilson Kirsch.

Perry sits far away from the mess, polishing her wand while watching over to make sure they don't get hurt. Carmilla sits with her in a makeshift bench, a well-worn book from her home library in her hand. She gets distracted by the poems for a while, but is brought back by a clear voice by their right.

“Can I sit here?” asks Laura Hollis, politely. Both girls nod, scooting over so she can fit. “Thanks.”

“Why aren't you in there?” Perry asks her.

“I trip a lot,” she explains, sheepish. “It wouldn't be a war against the Ravenclaws. It'd be one against gravity.”

Carmilla lets out a snort; Laura looks at her, inquisitive, and she masks her amusement by staring at her book.

“At least now you can make Carmilla and I company.”

“Carmilla?” Laura calls. At Carmilla's quirk of the head, she explains. “You guys go by your first names or by the last names? How do you know someone is calling for you?”

“First names is usually the best bet,” she says, trying to mask her nervousness. Why the hell does this keep happening? “If someone calls for Karnstein we all turn around.”

“You're triplets, right?”

“Yes. Will and JP are identical, obviously.”

“Oh, cool.”

Laura's next question is dwarfed by Lawrence's sudden appearance. Exchanging glares with Carmilla, she shifts to talk to Laura. “Hey, Hollis,” she says, her voice much less hostile than Carmilla has ever heard it. “Aren't you coming?”

“Nah, I'll pass,” the girl says, smiling. “But you guys enjoy yourselves. We'll get dinner later.”

Lawrence, like a puppy just told no, sulks a little- until Kirsch yells for her and she speeds off to catch up with him. Laura seems content to remain quiet and watch with Perry; Carmilla returns to her book, after sneaking a few more looks her way.

 

 

 

 

In February, the inevitable happens: LaFontaine burns her eyebrows off.

Carmilla is sitting next to LaFontaine when it happens; her own hair gets singed and her right ear gets hit in the crossfire. She turns to LaF, befuddled- LaF is laughing in delight, half her face black and eyebrows still on fire. It's such a hilarious sight that Carmilla ends up laughing too, both of them unable to breathe in their amusement.

Professor Clark is frozen in shock for awhile; but then he sends them both out with a flick of the hand, with strict instructions to go to the Hospital Wing. They're still snorting by the time they make it to Madam Pomfrey; she's so used to teenage madness that she just tells LaF to sit down.

Perry is, predictably, horrified. She worries about both of them- going from sad to angry at the blink of an eye. Carmilla tries not to let her amusement shine through- Perry is smaller than most first-years, and has so much hair that it bounces on every pause she makes.

JP and Will giggle behind Perry's shoulder; even more so when she turns to scold them for it. LaFontaine and Carmilla catch each other's eye, though, and start laughing again.

Perry's exasperated huffs and grumbles are funnier than most of JP's puns, but they end up stopping just for her sake. The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, Will going over what they'd missed during class. McGonagall stops the talking at some point, to remind everyone of the start of exam season.

“Why are you so quiet?” Will asks Carmilla, after dessert appears and the students go on as usual.

She looks forlornly at her chocolate pudding. “If I drown myself in this, do I still have to take the exams?”

“Yes.” Perry says resolutely.

“Damn it.”

“You'll do great,” LaF reassures her. “And I'm sure McGonagall won't kick you out if you fail everything.”

Carmilla punches her in the shoulder and LaFontaine yelps.

 

 

 

To none of her friends' surprise, Carmilla passes her DADA exam with flying colors. Not only has she been practicing third-year level spells, but she's known to staying in class after it's dismissed to ask Professor Walsh questions about her jinxes. In the same vein, Will excels in his unorthodox version of an Antidote to Common Poisons, and JP transforms a mouse into a matchbox and back before the others can blink.

LaF manages an Antidote faster than Will, simply because the Ravenclaw is used to it. When questioned, LaFontaine shrugs and explains that a lot of older Ravenclaws have a tendency to try out their experiments in the common room, so it's always a good idea to have them nearby. Perry is the best in their year in Charms and Herbology – and it's a sight to see her harvesting Wormwood with a smile at night for the exam – and she's very good at helping her clueless friends understand what the Hell Binns is talking about.

Despite their winnings, they're all tired and stressed by the time the exams end. The first Monday free-period they have afterwards is spent under a big tree by the lake, with Carmilla and LaF napping and the other three trying to play wizard chess on the board Perry got for Christmas.

Perry was at first horrified by wizard chess- despite having a wizard father, she lived in a pretty normal English muggle suburb with her mother for most of her life, and having her queen be smashed into smithereens is  _not_ normal. But she's grown into it, with the boys' help, and now she can play against Will with JP's help and commentary.

Though she only wins against LaFontaine, and also simply because she lets her win.

Carmilla opens her eyes after one of Perry's exclamations- she's frowning down at the board, at one of her bishop's remains. Carmilla gets ready to sleep again when she hears a shuffle by them. Her wand is on her grasp before she thinks of it.

It's the Gryffindor. He keeps his eyes on Carmilla as he passes by with a Quaffle, and smirks a little at her wand. When he finally leaves, LaFontaine's voice pipes up:

“Straka is a git, isn't he?”

Carmilla turns to look at LaF. “What's his name?”

“Ian Straka. He's got a younger brother too, Theo. He's a second-year. They both really live up to the Gryff stereotype, I'll tell you that much.”

Carmilla hums. “I'll say. Go back to sleep, ginger.”

“Will do.”

LaFontaine drops her coat on her face again and falls asleep; Carmilla sits against the tree and watches the others play, her good mood soured.

 

 

 

The rest of the year seems to pass on a blur. Between trying to keep the boys from setting themselves and LaF on fire and withstanding Perry's constant fretting, Carmilla forgets that Hogwarts isn't the whole world, and is blindsided by McGonagall's end of the year speech.

They go to King's Cross all together. Their car is filled with laughter and sarcasm, and they stuff their faces with candy all the way back to London. At parting, they all hug and promise to send letters – and Carmilla's grumpiness isn't at  _all_ related to having to part with them.

Yet, she's glad to see Ms. Spielsdorf again. She smiles and listens to their stories with genuine interest as the trio moves to the car, and doesn't make fun of Carmilla for holding her hand. All in all, Carmilla is happy.

 


	2. second year

 

 

“Turn it off!”

There's banging from Will's door, which she can hear from her room. She stuffs the pillow on top of her head, trying to go back to sleep, but the pounding won't stop.

“William- some of us are trying to _sleep_!”

The music suddenly shuts off, and Will opens his door with too much force. “It's nine,” he yells. “The day started  _hours_ ago.”

“I was working,” comes Mattie's voice now, dangerously low. It should make everyone cower, but her siblings just stare back. “Until three in the morning. I want _silence_.”

“What's with the racket?” JP asks, coming out of his room too. Carmilla sighs and gives up on her sleep, instead dragging herself off the bed and into the hallway.

Mattie's fluffy robe stands sharp against the crisp white walls of the Karnstein Manor. When Carmilla shows up in her pajamas, Will sighs loudly.

“Kitty,” Mattie says, eyebrows up to her hairline. “Why aren't you dressed?”

“Why should I be?” she asks, blinking owlishly. JP is also confused, in Puddlemere United shorts and T-shirt.

“We're leaving for London in an hour.” Will says slowly.

The other two take awhile to understand- then they exchange an alarmed look and run back to their rooms.

Despite their forgetfulness, the Karnsteins make it to the platform in record time. Mattie, dragged by the triplets, crosses with them, looking annoyed at the frantic parents and first-years. She's got her giant sunglasses on, even though it's raining buckets outside, and a trench-coat that cost more than their trunks put together.

“Go off, then, little ones,” she says, with uncharacteristic softness. They all smile in varying intensities; JP hugs his oldest sister, who doesn't quite know what to do with herself. But she pats him on the back and then waves them on. “Don't miss your train.”

Ms. Spielsdorf will take her home, Carmilla knows, but she almost expects Mattie to disapparate with the snap of her fingers, as she's so fond to do. Instead, the eldest Karnstein waves until the Hogwarts Express turns the corner.

The trio settles back on their seats. LaFontaine and Perry will soon show up; they were catching up with Hollis and Lawrence, and the Slytherins passed on the opportunity to be subjected to Lawrence's not-so-subtle glares and digs.

There is, however, a newcomer in the compartment; the trio's barn owl, Kipling. Ms. Spielsdorf gave them the owl as a gift when they returned home- it belongs to the three of them, and it's the test pet to see if they can each get one the following year. Mattie approved of the idea – which is to be expected, since she approves of all of Ms. Spielsdorf decisions – and gave them a thorough explanation of how to take care of an owl.

It lasted more than thirty minutes and now Carmilla can differentiate Eeylops Premium Owl Treats to Magical Menagerie's Owl Tasties, which isn't the kind of information she wanted to retain.

“Whoa,” LaFontaine says when the gingers get into the compartment. “You guys got an owl?”

“No. This is a transfigured teacup.” Carmilla deadpans. 

“Isn't he great?” JP tells them, grinning. “Ms. Spielsdorf gave Kipling to us!”

“He's pretty,” Perry says. She's grown a bit, as related on her letters, but it's more than expected. “How well does he fly?”

“Pretty silent,” Will responds. “Goes fast. Can't complain.”

“Did you know they don't hoot?”

“Yes.” The three respond in unison.

“He screeches in the mornings,” Carmilla supplies. Perry's eyes go wide. “It scares Mattie every time.”

“Bet she wants an eagle owl now.” Will says smugly.

JP laughs- Carmilla pats Will's arm as he says, “You'll get one next year, Willy.”

Carmilla puts her finger into the cage; Kipling nibbles on it. “I'm pretty fond of this one, I'll be honest.”

LaFontaine sits next to her, so they can both look and marvel at the bird. The other three start talking about something or other, leaving them to exchange some facts and quick anecdotes about owls.

LaF has had one since first-year; a mild-mannered tawny owl named Athena. The bird is probably sleeping with the luggage, since she complains when LaFontaine tries to bring her to the front.

“You excited to try out this year?” LaFontaine asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “I'm gonna try for Beater. You still going up for Keeper?”

“Yup. The old one graduated- I might get a shot.” LaF looks at her critically. “Aren't you a bit too skinny to be a beater?”

Carmilla glares until LaFontaine starts laughing. “Don't ever say that again.”

The conversation steers into Quidditch teams; the others join in when LaF makes a dig at the Chudley Cannons, which deeply offends Will. He argues for the honor of his team to Puddlemere fans JP and LaF, and tries to get Carmilla to back him up- but she just reminds him of her team's landslide win over the Cannons.

“Not like yours is faring any better,” she tells the other two. “The Harpies won over you too.”

Of course that sparks an argument lasting a whole hour, in which the history of conflict between Puddlemere United and Holyhead Harpies is laid out on the table. The Harpies' standing in the last season is held over Carmilla by LaF, who sing-songs the results of the  _Ikley Moor_ incident.

Perry is comically uninterested; she turns to a stitch on her robe. While they argue, she plucks up a needle and a thread, and enchants it quietly to mend the hole. Carmilla's attention deviates, as well as Will's, and they watch the girl's charm.

“How did you do that?” he wonders aloud.

“Pops taught me,” she says, confused. “He taught me a lot of house charms.”

“Like what?” JP asks, the three Karnsteins now fully interested. Perry's bafflement persists. “What house charms?”

“Like _Reparo,_ the Sticking Charm, the Scouring Charm...”

“We never learned those,” JP tells her in a cheery tone. “Usually Ms. Spielsdorf or the older caretakers had to clean things.”

“But did he sit you down and tell them to you?”

“No, I just picked up on them. Sometimes he'd explain- but I just saw him around the house.”

Will is impressed. “That's brilliant. Could you list them for me some time? I keep getting holes on my trousers.”

When they all move to a different subject, Perry turns to Carmilla for answers. “Your Pops didn't teach you any?”

Carmilla frowns- doesn't Perry know? Looking back, they really don't talk much about their family life. Carefully, she says, “We didn't have one. Mother was too busy to teach us anything, and Mattie- well, Mattie wasn't allowed around the Manor.”

Perry's eyes widen. “Oh. What happened when-”

“When Mother died?” Carmilla finishes, a familiar mix of hatred and sadness swirling inside her chest. “Mattie inherited everything, so she had to take care of us. She's twenty-two.”

“Your sister is ten years older than you?”

Carmilla nods. “Yeah. She's from Mother's first marriage.”

And there's a wealth of information behind that simple statement- Carmilla could very well tell her that Mattie's father was the kindest man she ever knew, and that her own father spoke of him with the highest regard. She could tell Perry that Mr. Belmonde died during the war to a Death Eater, and that the order was carried out by a friend of her mother's.

But the twisted and dark mind of Lilith Karnstein is a bloody minefield, and she doesn't exactly want to dive back into it.

Perry seems to notice that – truly there is no twelve-year-old as mature as Lola Perry – and just smiles. “You'll meet Pops sometime- he'll love to bake you a cake.”

“He makes cakes?” JP asks, catching the end of the sentence. “Your Pops knows everything!”

“I want cake,” LaF says forlornly. “Where's the trolley?”

The answer comes after lunch. They've already finished Ms. Perry's delicious sandwiches - the matriarch, when she found out Perry had friends, made sure to make one for each of them, a reasoning that mystified the triplets – and were now back in hungry town. When the sound of the rusty wheels sounds through the glass doors, LaFontaine and Will perk up in a second.

“Treats?” the trolley lady asks, with her kind grandmother smile.

They all search through their pockets for money; Carmilla buys some Cauldron Cakes and a whole bucket of Jelly Slugs, which she chews on happily. The others get a variety of sweets, LaFontaine spending most of her money on Chocolate Frogs for collecting.

“I keep getting Morgan le Faye,” LaF grumbles. “And Dumbledore. And it's not even a common card!”

“I got a Ronald Weasley,” Will says, offering it, “Trade you.”

“Done.”

“Why did you buy Bertie Bott's?” Perry asks JP.

“For the mystery,” he says, shrugging. “I like finding out.”

“I like having edible candy,” Carmilla says, popping one of her slugs onto her mouth. “Not ones that can taste like vomit.”

“You need adventure in your life, Kitty,” he says, opening his arms wide. “There are things to be discovered and flavors to- ow!”

Someone opens the door to the compartment, hitting JP's hand in the process. He cradles it against his chest, pouting, as Ian Straka peers in.

“Hello, children.”

Carmilla notices, with a heavy heart, his shiny Prefect badge. Perry, by her side, frowns at him. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not really, just checking the carts. Making sure no _dangerous students_ are causing trouble.”

LaFontaine and Perry immediately pick up on what's happening; they turn defensive, LaF even half-raising from the seat. “Nothing happening here, Straka. You can check the next one.”

They all glare at the Gryffindor, until he rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind him. After that, they all sag back on their places, Perry moving to lay a comforting hand on Will's knee.

“He's all bark and no bite,” she says. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I think I might go to the bathroom,” Carmilla tells them, rising from her seat. “I'll be back.”

Her hands are sweaty. The corridor seems too cramped, with the noise from the other students almost deafening to her ears. She's walking so fast, trying to clear her head, that she accidentally slams into someone.

“Watch where you're going!” says a voice. She blinks from the ground, somewhat disoriented.

“It's fine, Danny, I wasn't looking,” comes someone else. A soft hand helps her up, and Carmilla shakes her head to place it. Laura Hollis still holds her hand, smiling. “I'm sorry.”

Carmilla's mind is torn between being pissed off and apologetic; she glares at Lawrence, steeling her jaw, but squeezes Hollis' hand before letting go. “Excuse me,” she says, and continues on her way.

 

 

 

They shift through the masses to find their carriages. Last year they'd gone over by those dingy boats- she still remembers the weird night chill that clung to her robes. This time, happily, she trots upfront with LaF, to the black lineup of cars.

She hesitates, however, as do some other second years. Instead of an empty front, like she'd been told, there were strange, dragon-like creatures. Carmilla looks around in alarm- LaFontaine and Perry are perky as usual, and her siblings are giving her an odd look. The big, winged walking corpses are still there when she looks back.

Her confusion must've been apparent- as her friends climb onto a free carriage, a heavy hand drops to her shoulder. She looks up- a kind Slytherin fifth-year by the name of Seychelles, smiles down at her, a bit sadly.

“Do you see them, Karnstein?”

She's frowning. “People said the carriages weren't pulled by anything.”

“Those are Thestrals,” he says. “Not everyone can see them.”

He looks older than he really is, for a second- his bronze skin seems to pale. Carmilla has heard that name, but does not know what the creatures mean.

“Oh. You can see them too, Seychelles?”

“Sadly, yes. You don't have to talk about them to anyone.”

“Is this bad- that I can see them?”

He blinks forcefully, as if containing tears. Carmilla feels awful for asking, suddenly- maybe she's missing something important here.

“It's not nice, I'm afraid.”

Seychelles pats her on the back and gently nudges her forward to the carriage, where her friends impatiently await her. Carmilla tries a quick smile at him – so rarely have people been kind to her, this is almost a miracle – and climbs on.

 

 

 

There's a handful of new Slytherins in contrast to the mass of Gryffindors. The newcomers sit by the trio, their eyes wide at the table. When JP asks them why they're so surprised, one of them – who has a lisp – says “Never seen food appear before”. After that, the others nod, confirming the theory of all of them being muggleborn.

“Don't worry, we were surprised too,” JP tells the girl. “You'll get used to it.”

A third-year elbows him. “Stop talking to them, bloodhead.”

Will sucks in a breath; Carmilla locks her jaw. “What did you just call him?”

The viciousness of her tone startles him; he mumbles something and looks back onto his plate. But the damage is done- JP's bright countenance dulls, and no prodding from either of his siblings can get him to talk again.

The kids, however, ask them more questions. Unused to talking to strangers, Carmilla has a hard time answering them; but Will takes it in stride and gives full, though somewhat clipped, responses. The inquiring ends when he pokes one of them, telling him to eat his supper, so that he can go to class the next morning.

Carmilla looks around the Hall; LaFontaine is talking to someone from their year, gesturing wildly to prove a point. At the Hufflepuff table, Hollis is talking fast at Perry, who tries to pay attention and maintain her dignity as she eats. After dessert is served, she gives up, and shovels  rice pudding into her mouth as Hollis continues her story with a mouthful of doughnut.

When the feast ends, the Prefects start calling up the first-years; the one with the lisp looks at JP for guidance, and JP just pats him along the shoulder, telling him to follow the fifth-years. As he says that, both his siblings sidle up to him, Carmilla tugging at his robes.

“I saved a bit of trifle for you,” she says, holding up a napkin. “So you can eat later. Let's go.”

 

 

 

Sadly, that is not the end of insults. Since they have lost a bit of baby fat and the boys gained a couple of centimeters, the upperclassmen seem to find them fair game. People start bumping into them purposefully, knocking their books off by 'accident', and throwing paper airplanes at their heads during class.

Carmilla sits by LaFontaine in Potions, again. The Ravenclaw is even more annoyed at the constant balled-up messages a group is sending Carmilla than the Slytherin is, and ends up turning around to throw them filthy glares. It does nothing but spur them on, as they try to make the two even more aggravated.

Will and JP are worst off, though; they sit together in the middle of the class, trapped between two tables of Ravenclaws. They keep whispering things while the professor is busy, making JP's eyes water a little, and Will's face to turn red in anger.

In Astronomy and History of Magic, the Gryffindors are even worse, going as far as to tilt their telescopes and spill ink over their star charts; Binns is so blind he doesn't even notice the three Slytherins being pelted with airplanes.

The Hufflepuffs leave them alone, for the most part. Especially since the two more prominent people in their year are Perry and Hollis, who flank them on both sides. Perry has the will and the glare of a mother, which scares them, but Hollis is so sweet and nice that they'd loath to do anything.

And in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Walsh gives the first ones to try anything a detention.

The place  at which Carmilla finds the most peace continues to be the library. Will has gotten fond of the common room, for its hidden nooks and quiet, and JP is usually with Perry and LaF at the lake. But in the library, Carmilla is surrounded by books,  none of which judge or insult her.

It's not that she didn't expect it- she did. The war ended merely two years ago; the wounds are too fresh to be ignored. And yet, some part of her hoped for understanding, or for tolerance; she hoped the children of righteous men would give them the benefit of the doubt. But they didn't, and now their name continues to bear the stain of blood spilled by Lilith.

She hardly saw her mother, aside from those rare dinners she decided to attend. She was a silent, hard woman, with porcelain skin and an iron will. Lilith spoke to her children as if they were a cross between soldiers and employees, and hardly talked of anything other than blood purity and power.

But she always knew something was wrong with Mother; and she figured it out, that stormy night in February of 1998, where an auror's spell threw Lilith Morgan Karnstein off a cliff in northern Wales, and left behind her three nine-year-old children. They were orphans, like many children were now, though they were used to not having parents for longer than that.

Carmilla remembers a time before Matska got their guardianship; where the Karnstein Manor managed to become even colder, its walls seeming to fall as if a force pulled them from the center of the floor. There was no one to take care of them for a week; the previous caretaker fled at the news, and the old house elves were freed by JP when Mother wasn't paying attention. So Carmilla figured out how to make scrambled eggs while standing on a chair, with Will trying to read aloud the recipes for other egg-based foods.

She recalls the day Mattie came inside; her hair windswept, her face showing her nineteen years. The girl asked for the servants- and, for the first and last time, Mattie cried in front of them when Will innocently said there were none. And she told them, with a shaky, tired voice, that Mother had died, and now she would take care of them.

When they got their Hogwarts letters, Mattie came back from Guadalupe to take them to Diagon Alley; the willowy woman, holding hands with three tiny pale children, who looked around with wide black eyes. She patiently helped them pick out clothes and books, and even clapped when they all got their wands.

The older Carmilla gets, the more she appreciates her older sister. She had to take over Mother's business and wards, had to give up her freedom and happiness to come back and raise three siblings she hardly new. That, she supposes, should be enough for anyone cynical of the Slytherin honor and loyalty; though nothing but name bound Matska to them, she returned, for they are her people.

 

 

 

Quidditch tryouts are late that year; Professor Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts apparently managed to destroy half the field and  scorch one of the towers. After a good week of professors re-charming the stands, the captains can finally schedule tryouts.

Both Carmilla and Will are trying out for Slytherin. The wind is harsh and the heavy skies foretell a good amount of rain, but they are both too high to be worried; JP, however, makes sure to bring their coats along, just in case.

There are openings for a new Beater and for a Chaser, with about ten hopefuls for each. At their entrance, the Slytherin Captain, Ivan Higgs, seems pleased to see them; a reaction they don't receive often.

“Split into groups,” he says, voice crackling over the furious wind. “Takagi'll take the Beaters. Come on, move it!”

Carmilla shuffles to Takagi; he's a tall fella, a good thirty centimeters taller than her. He eyes her disdainfully, when all they congregate. She's the shortest and the youngest in line, surely he believes her incapable of hitting anything heavier than a pumpkin.

His instructions are simple; two go up at a time, and try to protect one of the Chasers trying out, aiming at the other one. Carmilla gets lodged with Charles Peebles, a fourth-year with an old Cleansweep she reckons might fall apart at the first sign of action.

“Eller is hopeless,” a girl behind her sighs. “He flies like someone put a bowtruckle down his pants.”

Carmilla stifles a laugh and watches as Eller almost falls off and gets hit by his colleagues' bludger. Takagi orders him down with barely concealed amusement. Peebles fumbles into his broom; Carmilla has to hop a little to reach her Nimbus. Takagi gives her the bat, eyeing her as she prepares to take flight.

“Go!”

She shoots up instantly. The wind pulls her broomstick to the left, but she steadily guides it back, shifting to wait for the Chasers. Peebles catches up to her after a few sudden stops of his broom; she briefly wonders how well he'd do with a model from this decade.

The bludger is released again. It zooms towards the Chaser she's supposed to defend. Carmilla reaches them in record time- the crack of the ball against her bat echoes through the pitch. Peebles manages to get it before it hits the Chaser, but his hit is softer- he's trying to keep his balance with only one hand.

Carmilla follows her Chaser as he makes a try for the goalposts; Higgs leisurely spins around his hoops. The Chaser tries for a shot, but Higgs blocks it with ease; Carmilla turns sideways to intercept the oncoming hit, with another satisfying blow.

The test continues in the same manner until Higgs calls it off; the other Chaser gets hit in the shoulder by a close-range shot, and Peebles is nowhere near him to defend against it. Carmilla floats down, smugly exchanging a high-five with her brother. The next beaters are nowhere near her skill.

Will's tryout is impressive, too. He dodges the bludgers without his beater's help, and even scores twice on Higgs. As they start heading back to the common room,  the skies open , torrential rain falling over the grounds.

The Karnsteins sprint across the grass in the direction of the Entrance Hall, where Perry and LaFontaine await them anxiously. At the sight of them, giggling and soaked to the bone, Perry huffs.

“What would you do without me, honestly-” she grumbles, waving her wand fancily and drying them off.

“Catch cold,” Will responds, grinning. “Thank you, Mom.”

Perry waves him off; LaF waves her arms dramatically, as she tends to do when no one is paying her attention. “Oi! How'd it go?”

“Pretty well, I'd say,” Carmilla tells LaF. “We'll know Monday for sure.”

“Oh, the mystery,” is the answer. Then LaFontaine's main concern comes to the forefront. “Can we go to lunch now?”

 

 

 

The two make it to the team, as does LaFontaine make it to Ravenclaw Keeper. They celebrate by sitting together at supper at the Hufflepuff table, the Slytherins squeezed between Laura Hollis and Melanie Toddington.

“Pass me the potatoes, will you?”

Carmilla minds her elbows and manages to get the bowl at the center, passing it down until it reaches LaFontaine. “Do you have the salt?”

LaF dutifully hands her the salt, over JP's head as he digs into his food. Will looks at his brother, disgusted. “Have some manners, will you, Jeep?”

“I'm hungry,” he says, looking like a chipmunk with his cheeks full. “I had loads of things to do today, unlike you.”

“We have the same schedule!”

Carmilla hears a small giggle. Confused, she turns to face her neighbor.

“Laughing, are we, Hollis?”

Hollis smiles at her unabashedly. “Your brothers are funny.”

“I don't think any sibling believes that of the other.”

“Really?”

“Well, yes- you wouldn't find them any sort of amusing when they're fighting at three in the morning.”

“I might,” she says. “My house could use some cheering up.”

“Do you want them? I'll gladly give them to you for Christmas.”

She laughs; it sounds like bells. Carmilla is very proud of herself for causing it. “They're too fond of you- but thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Carmilla wants to say something else, but she's run out of words; Hollis turns back to her mashed potatoes. Instead, she shovels cauliflower into her open mouth and listens to Perry talk about plants.

 

 

Carmilla soon decides that Mandrakes are creatures of Hell and should be banished there forever. This realization comes after one of them tangles itself on her hair, pulling her headfirst into a couple of pots.

“Ms. Karnstein!” Professor Sprout calls, her feet loud on the linoleum floor. Carmilla tries to raise her head, but the wily overgrown weed pulls her back, screaming bloody murder. Sprout pulls at her hair while Carmilla tries to keep her earmuffs on; she can feel her consciousness slipping away.

Another pair of hands joins Sprout's and pries her away from the demon. Professor Sprout shovels it down with dirt, while Perry helps Carmilla up.

“What in the name of Bathilda Bagshot's pink stockings was that?” Carmilla exclaims, despite Perry's stern look. “Where did it come from?”

“That was William's-”

“It jumped out of the pot!” Will explains, bewildered. “I thought they couldn't-”

“Crafty plants,” Professor Sprout tells them. “Never underestimate them. Are you alright, Ms. Karnstein?”

The attack of the mutant plant child is only the beginning of a series of accidents. On Thursday, she trips and sinks into a trick step; her Transfiguration rabbit runs away from her three times; LaFontaine slips and lets some Moondew fall from the flask and into Carmilla's potion, making it solidify and stick to the bottom of the cauldron. By Friday, Carmilla has tripped all over, lost her quill several times, and hit her bedpost twice.

She's already very ticked off by the time she makes it to DADA class.

“We're starting our dueling training today,” Professor Walsh announces, as soon as he waltzes into the room. Sometimes, when the light catches his face the wrong way, the scar running through his right cheek turns completely black; it never fails to startle Carmilla. “Separate into two lines of students, please.”

Dragging her feet, she picks up her wand and stands to the back of the class with a group of Slytherins. With a flick of his wand, Walsh stacks their tables and chairs up against the far wall. Subconsciously, the class seems to have split by houses, an instinct that brings a frown to the ex-auror's face.

“Face the person directly opposite you.”

Danny Lawrence steps up, glaring down at Carmilla. This does not help her temper.

“We're going in easy,” Walsh says, correcting a boy's posture. “With the classic Expelliarmus Spell.”

He makes the motion without the words, so they can understand it. After a few tries, he gestures for them to try it on each other.

Lawrence, who appears to have been waiting for this moment her whole damn life, swishes her wand sloppily at Carmilla; her wand barely moves at all. “ _Expelliarmus_ !”

“The swirl is lower,” Carmilla says. “Like this.”

She repeats the word, making the correct gesture; Lawrence's impossibly long wand is thrust to the air, narrowly missing the wall. Professor Walsh returns it to her without a word, passing them by to talk to Will.

“You look like someone just blasted your broom, Lawrence,” she taunts. “Pretend to be a competent witch here, please.”

There's true anger behind her next attempt, but still terrible technique. Carmilla notes, smugly, that her wand just buzzes a little in her grip. She foregoes her round, waving Lawrence on. “You look like you need the help.”

She shouldn't be enjoying the angry twist of her forehead, but hey, this month has been Hell. Carmilla is taking what she can get.

“Do you ever- stop- talking?” Lawrence puffs out in-between attempts.

Her wand is starting to slip out, but she pays that no heed. “No. One of my most charming traits.”

“For Merlin's sake,” Lawrence growls. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Carmilla's wand breaks away from her hand and clatters to the floor. Half the class stops what they're doing to look; Lawrence's tone was a bit louder than the others. Studiously, Carmilla maintains her expression of disinterest and picks up her wand from the ground. Before she says anything, however, Lawrence hits her again with the spell.

“What's that for?” Carmilla huffs. She turns, gripping her wand. Lawrence is halfway through the motion again as Carmilla yells out, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Her wand jumps out of her grip and lands even further, knocking on a desk before falling to the ground. Lawrence rushes at it, livid, and Carmilla points her wand back.

Lawrence tries the spell again, but Carmilla jumps out of its reach. She almost manages to disarm the Gryffindor again- yet Lawrence keeps her wand in grip.

“ _Flipendo!_ ”

Carmilla's feet skate the ground as Lawrence's spell hits her like a punch. She nearly falls, but puts her hand to the floor to steady herself. Lawrence seems almost as if she wants to take that back, but Carmilla can barely hear over the rush of blood to her ears.

“That's enough.”

Professor Walsh summons Lawrence's wand as they both fall silent. The whole class is onto them, now.

“Detention, tomorrow. For the both of you.”

She's ready to fight about it; but falls silent at JP's shake of the head. Lawrence looks torn between furious and repentant, but says nothing by the way of an apology.

 

 

To Perry's immense relief, Carmilla doesn't get any more detentions in the following weeks.

She's too busy trying to memorize Higgs' warnings and tactics for their first game against Gryffindor. Their team, boosted by the memory of Potter's run, has a cocky countenance about them, one the Slytherin Captain is eager to knock down a few pegs.

The want for victory is great in Higgs; enough to make them fly the pitch three times a week. Carmilla can barely feel her own arms, and Will is half-purple from so many bruises. Not even Perry's unfailing bruise paste is enough to make them disappear; Will's left arm is almost fully purple/yellow, with some ugly green spots in the middle.

She's not focusing on her arms when game day comes about; instead, she's trying to figure out if Hollis is cheering for Gryffindor or not.

She's got her normal robes on, with no visible paint. No flags, no mascots-

“Carmilla,” William snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Pitch. Now.”

Carmilla looks back at Hollis one last time before following her teammates. The prep for the game is foggy in memory; she barely remembers putting on her padding and tying her hair. Before she notices, Professor Breton is blowing the whistle and throwing the Quaffle up into play.

“ _And we're off!_ ” says a voice from the stands. Stewart Ackerley, a scrappy Ravenclaw sixth-year, sits on the microphone stand, with McGonagall by his side. _“Karnstein with the Quaffle._ ”

Carmilla is tasked with following the two younger Chasers, while Takagi handles Higgs and Pritchard. She zips by Will, who passes to Pritchard just before reaching their Keeper; Pritchard tricks the Gryffindor and scores.

“ _First blood for Slytherin!”_

A roar comes from the silver-green crowd. They follow it up with two more goals, both by Meads- she celebrates by doing a sloth roll on her broom, causing the crowd to cheer even louder. The next goal, however, is by Gryffindor; Theo Straka dodges Takagi's bludger and squeezes the Quaffle through the left hoop.

“ _Gryffindor scores! A masterful play by the youngest Straka. Off they go again- Karnstein with the Quaffle, throws it to Meads. Callis with a bludger- Carmilla Karnstein stuffs it back- Meads still in play. Passes to Pritchard- he drops it- Will Karnstein swoops up and gets- and Slytherin up with ten more points!_ ”

Carmilla lets herself smile at her brother. She's in the middle of the pitch, waiting for Gryffindor to throw again, when someone knocks into her.

“Death Eaters,” Melanippe Callis spits at her. “The lot of you.”

“ _Kelleen passes to Straka- the small one- and he throws it back, dives under Takagi- Big Straka gets the Quaffle, speeds past Will- Takagi knocks the Quaffle off his hand! Will with the ball, feints through Tiny Straka – honestly these names – and it's with Meads again now. Careful, careful- Callis gets too close- ooof, she's hit in the face by Karnstein with a well-placed shot! Quaffle still with Slytherin-”_

Callis' nose spews out blood; their Captain seems to want for a time-out, but Callis gestures for him to stop. She bares her teeth at Carmilla; it is very amusing to her that a fourth-year is at all threatened by a 1,50m girl.

Gryffindor starts looking sloppy; they manage another three goals in succession, but Slytherin is still in the lead; their Seeker, Adonis, almost catches the snitch twice. Carmilla throws bludgers left and right with the utmost glee, trailing by Will and Adonis, who Callis and Kirsch focus on the most.

“ _Look at Adonis_!”

The Seeker is sprinting downwards, his arm outstretched. The whole school seems to hold their breaths; the Gryffindor Seeker is a broom behind his counterpart. Ackerley's voice falls to the background- Takagi and Carmilla knock back the bludgers meant for Adonis- and then the crowd surges forward, the world tilting back into focus.

“ _Adonis catches the snitch! It's over! Slytherin wins!_ ”

 

 

 

After what seems like years, Carmilla finally has something not-bruise-inducing to look forward to: Halloween.

The yearly feast is just as grand as the previous year's; the Slytherin table overflows with food, from a turkey that yips when you take the first slice, to several muggle sodas. Carmilla happily tries them all out with the other second-years, though some end up spitting it back out and shouting their disapproval to their muggle counterparts.

Dessert is the best part. Cauldrons filled with sweets, trick lollipops, and the occasional pranking kit transfigured as a unassuming apple. Carmilla even finds a couple of Fanged Frisbees, something a free elf must have snuck in. Will starts throwing colored candy across the aisle between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, managing to get some stuck in LaFontaine's robes; Carmilla has to hide behind her Potions handbook when LaF starts firing them back.

A bat follows the group of second-years back to the common room; it rests on top of JP's head, making his classmates laugh, and then disappears into a corridor. Most of them hang by the sofas; Carmilla takes up a chair while her siblings share a two-seater.

“Bats are really odd-looking,” Jeep tells them, still puzzled. “But I don't understand why people view them in such a bad light. I mean, they might live in caves and all, but so do bears. And their nocturnal habits are shared by a number of species.”

“You get stuck on the strangest things.” Will muses aloud.

“They might be connected to dark magic someway,” Carmilla tries. “They're part of the fifth-year curriculum, even- aren't they?”

“Not a fifth-year.”

“They are,” JP says at the same time as his brother. “I looked it up. But just Vampire Bats. The great majority of bats are innocuous.”

“Where are you learning these words from?” Will wonders. “It's like you swallowed a dictionary when we weren't looking.”

“Wouldn't put it past you.”

“You know another pet that gets a bad reputation? Black cats.”

“Okay, I agree with you there. I like them.”

Will shakes his head at Carmilla. “They are dark as night- can you imagine, one of 'em standing by your bed when you wake up? The fright?”

“I reckon most things would frighten you if they were standing by your bed at night.”

“Pygmy Puffs,” Jeep starts listing them, “Puppies, kelpies, trolls, big spiders, thestrals-”

“I get it.”

“\- hippogriffs, lions, hyenas-”

“Jeep.”

“\- dragons-”

Will throws a pillow at his brother's face; it hits him right on the nose and slides to the floor. “Shut up.”

“No manners whatsoever,” Carmilla says. “Savages.”

“Says you!”

“I am a perfectly polite witch,” she tells them with her best impression of a haughty posh woman. “How can you even utter such a thing?”

“Very easily, Kitty.”

A loud bang comes from the common room door, and they all turn. A fourth-year by the name of Whittaker comes barreling in, his face pale as snow. He stops for a second to catch his breath; a classmate of Carmilla's gets up to pat him on the back. Whittaker shakes them off, turning wide eyes to the group still sitting.

“There's a message,” he pants, “A message on the wall outside-”

Whatever he says gets drowned out by the rush of people pushing past him. Carmilla is at the front; she stops at the sight, a horrified gasp leaving her mouth. The gaggle of students all stop at the same distance, as if the words may poison them.

“ _THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN”_.

 

 

 

The atmosphere at the castle is dark. McGonagall had been immediately informed and the charm was dispelled, but those who saw it in the meantime found themselves at a loss. Never since the war have the corridors been so quiet.

Of course there is outrage- dozens of parents' letters come in the following mornings, and the message is splayed on the Daily Prophet's front page. The sight of the Great Hall, even, where  _he_ was defeated, casts a long shadow of fear among them; on a lot of older students' faces are the ghosts of the evacuation, of those days where they hid under their beds and heard nothing but of death.

She cannot imagine how it must be for them. Carmilla is terrified enough- there will never be a time where the name of Lord Voldemort won't send shivers down any wizard's spine. But she is a pure-blooded Slytherin with – unwanted – ties to the Death Eaters, and if anything should happen, both her and her brothers won't be in the front lines.

But the muggleborn students- who probably came to Hogwarts excited and happy to  _be_ in this world, like any child would, are now scared, white things that rarely walk without looking behind them.

She's leaving Herbology one day and counting heads, when she realizes someone is missing. Carmilla tells the boys to go on without her, and trails back, a sort of cold fear seeping to her chest. At every second, she grows more and more worried- the class is at dusk, and anyone could very well get lost in the dark.

A Hufflepuff scarf a bit off to the greenhouses' entrance gets her attention.

“Hollis!” she yells. The girl doesn't hear her, focused as she is on the tiny pots in front of her. “Hollis! _Laura!_ ”

She looks up, then, confused, as Carmilla runs to her. “Carmilla! I was just looking-”

“It's getting dark,” she interrupts her, a scowl making its way to her face. “You shouldn't be alone.”

The other girl frowns, squaring up for a fight. Carmilla nearly groans in impatience. “I shouldn't be doing what, exactly?”

“That's not what I meant,” she tries. “It's just- Hogwarts isn't safe these days- I just didn't want-”

Hollis opens and closes her mouth. “Oh, I didn't know you- yeah, I should be heading back.”

Carmilla is glad for the cold- her cheeks are red from embarrassment. But she had to come back- Hollis is one of Perry's friends and, by association, one of Carmilla's people. And, well, she kind of likes the tiny Hufflepuff, even though she's a bit thickheaded and naive.

They walk in silence to the Entrance Hall; Hollis is playing with the frayed end of her scarf, while Carmilla just doesn't talk in general. When they come through the doors, Danny Lawrence is there, tapping the heel of her foot on the floor.

“Laura!” Lawrence exclaims; then she spots Carmilla, expression turning from relief to ever-present displeasure. “Where were you?”

“Outside?”

Lawrence tugs her away- not before Hollis looks back and gives Carmilla a smile. “Thanks for walking me back, Carmilla!”

She just nods and goes off to the Great Hall, in search  of her siblings.

 

 

 

Holiday season at Hogwarts is dampened by the fear clouding the student body. Even less people stay at the castle; the triplets stay in their rooms for a good while. Carmilla's only contact with their classmates is by owl with LaFontaine and Perry, whose families took a joint vacation to France.

“ _We haven't seen much of the town yet. My mom wants to spend time with family, so we're mostly stuck at my Aunt Clémence's house- which, by the way, is HUGE. And the elves manage to keep everything so clean- Perry keeps bothering them with questions about their cleaning methods and one of them calls her up when he's gonna do something cool._

_But I'm having fun- we have a big yard where my cousins and I play Quidditch. None of them get a goal past me, obviously. But it's fun. You guys should come next year, we can get two whole teams!”_

To say she is surprised by that is an understatement. Even if LaFontaine doesn't plan on inviting them the following year, none of the triplets have ever gotten invited to things that aren't balls or club meetings. That's part of the whole 'pureblood' mentality- no one really wants their children to be friends, but to have a link between the families for their own purposes.

She's voiced this to her brothers, and they all have different views. Will understands it, and actively despises it- he believes that connections, to last, should be built on true and solid foundations. Jeep says he doesn't mind being merely a link- to him, a lot of friendships are solely caused by circumstance and not a particular affinity to each other.

But Carmilla has such an aversion to her Mother's ideals of networking that she rejects the idea altogether.

More importantly, she might just have read the letter wrong because good lord- LaF has  _horrible_ handwriting.

 

 

 

“So this doesn't actually gets you to sleep?”

Will looks up from his cauldron at LaFontaine, whose face is contorted in confusion. “It does.”

“Not real sleep.”

“What?”

“It's only temporary.”

“All sleep is temporary, otherwise it's death.”

LaF glares at him while stirring her potion. Carmilla continues to struggle with her Flobberworms- she is about two steps behind most of the class, and not because she's curious about the potion itself. She is simply quite bad at this.

“Willy-kins. Please answer my question.”

“The Sleeping Draught causes sleep, but not _deep_ sleep. Just knocks you out for 'while. The one you're thinking of is Potion of Dreamless Sleep.”

“Hey, Slughorn,” Carmilla grunts, “Mind helping?”

Will successfully juices the thing- the thick mucus-like substance slides from the chopping block. It is so disgusting that Carmilla has to cover her eyes. She then has to stir it vigorously – according to the book – without heat; it isn't exactly easy to move, and it's even harder for Carmilla, who seems to have missed the sudden growth spurt everyone got during break. She has to stand on her tiptoes sometimes.

“Did you hear what happened?” LaFontaine whispers to her.

“Huh? Sure.”

“Ivan Straka- he got into a fistfight with someone and is on the Hospital Wing.”

Carmilla's eyes are wide as saucers as she looks up. “Straka? The Gryffindor?”

“Yeah. Some guys are saying he thought he knew who wrote the message and, like, went after them.”

“Was he right?”

“I dunno. But he did get beaten to a pulp. Quirke – you know, from the team – said she saw him be floated in by his mate.”

“Shouldn't he have told McGonagall if he thought he'd found them?”

“Yeah. But he's pretty dim.”

“Yup,” she says absentmindedly. Almost snipping her finger, Carmilla stops chopping her bean. “But why wouldn't you tell anyone?”

“Maybe he reckoned no one would do anything. I don't know- might think the professors aren't that competent. Or he wanted to be a hero.”

“I think it's the latter,” she whispers. “Straka thinks he's some kind of junior auror.”

LaFontaine laughs and then schools her expression as the professor looks up. After he turns, she whispers back. “The Boy Who Thought.”

“And then got his butt handed to him.”

 

 

In February, McGonagall reminds the second-years they have to choose their electives.

Perry already has her schedule in her mind – and in a piece of parchment, to Carmilla's horror – and JP's eyes move all around the list. Knowing him, he wants to take all of them, a feat impossible to accomplish. Well, unless you have a Time-Turner.

“I don't want Muggle Studies,” LaFontaine thinks aloud. “Or Divination. Might go for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

“What about Care of Magical Creatures?” asks JP, pouting. “Thought you said you'd take this with me.”

“Oh, no.”

“Is anyone taking Divination?” Will questions, frowning when they all shake their heads. The Great Hall is starting to fill up as they start another Monday. Carmilla catches the glimpse of Laura Hollis' hair over at Hufflepuff- she wonders what subjects she's going to take.

“You're on your own. I'm not touching that wicked subject with a ten-foot pole.”

“What are you taking, Carmilla?” Perry asks.

“Care of Magical Creatures and Study of Ancient Runes,” she says, biting her lip. “I kind of want to add Arithmancy, but that might be one too much.”

“I won't be alone then!” JP cheers.

“I'll ask Mattie if she thinks it is too much on my next letter,” Carmilla decides. “She took like four electives when she was here.”

“Sounds like torture.”

“Does, doesn't it?”

“But what if I want to be something and I haven't got the elective I need?” Perry suddenly says, loudly, startling her friends. “What if instead of Muggle Studies I should get Divination?”

“Perry,” LaFontaine sighs. “You grew up as a muggle. Why would you take Muggle Studies?”

“There's always something to be learned-”

Carmilla has questions. “What career path needs Divination?”

That gives them all pause. “It's better to be prepared.” Perry finally utters.

“Don't take either of them.”

“But then I'll only have three-”

“ _Three_? Perry- choose sleeping. How about sleeping?”

“Oh, Susan- be serious.”

A shadow seems to cross her face- Carmilla frowns at her friend, but LaFontaine just perks up again and dives back into the discussion.

 

 

The year ends in a flash of colors. Gryffindor unfortunately wins the Quidditch Cup against Slytherin, a violent match where Will breaks his arm, Carmilla's nose spews out blood, and several Gryffindors have their faces transformed into purple masses. But they lose for Hufflepuff for the House Cup; the Great Hall lights up with yellow banns and brighter candles, in a fashion that makes Carmilla less sore about losing.

The Hogwarts Express zooms around the English countryside, but the cabin feels still. They are all tired and sleepy after eating too much the night before, and the whole of Hogwarts seems to be as well. Carmilla, in an attempt not to sleep, decides to walk around a little.

She passes the middle of the train when the floor shakes slightly. Carmilla stops, confused; the Ravenclaws in the cabin to her right start muttering, looking around. Turning, she starts walking back to her cart, when another, much stronger rumble shakes the Express.

Shouts start from the front- against her better judgment, Carmilla runs toward the noise, pulling out her wand.

The door opens to chaos. Flashing, blinding spells shoot out at every direction from the compartments; the overhead lights turn off, plunging the place in darkness. The second the door shuts behind her, a man in a hood jumps out of a cart, out of reach of a Disarming Spell- he sees her before Carmilla can hide.

She hits the door forcefully, her upper back taking the brunt of the impact. Her lungs struggle for air; the man waves his wand again, but is stopped by a strong Knockback Jinx that throws him against the window, breaking it.

“Karnstein! Go back!”

Carmilla gets back to her feet at the call, to then see Higgs across the cart. Before she can say anything, Higgs gets caught by a bright purple spell and retreats into the front cart- she runs after him, lungs burning. There's another hood by the door; the person yells out a curse and Carmilla hears a sound she will never forget-

Higgs screams; a horrifying, chilling shout, before he faints. The hood turns to her; there are people in the cart, two Huffepuff first-years who hide and cry by the window. Hood raises their wand, poised to cast the same curse-

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

She doesn't know if it's the adrenaline or pure luck, but the hooded person falls to the ground, immobile. The kids scream.

“Go towards the end of the train-” she tells them, opening the door. “Stay there!”

They scurry out. Carmilla shouts at herself to follow them; but the idea of something happening to someone she knows drives her to the first car.

There, she sees it. Right at the entrance- the Dark Mark. It floats overhead, on top of two bodies. Panic grips her and Carmilla throws herself at them, searching for a sign of life.

“Please, please,” she finds herself muttering, “Please don't be dead-”

A faint heartbeat comes from one of them, and the other lets out a moan. She sighs in relief- tears come to her eyes.

“What is going on?” she asks the Gryffindor. He blinks at her, his pupils blown wide.

“They came out of nowhere- looking for the- the muggleborns!

Carmilla doesn't wait for the rest- she remembers where she was headed when they boarded the train- she always sits with Lawrence at the front-

The floor is littered with broken glass and ripped cloth- a couple of students still cower at their seats, pointing their wands fearfully forward. In her haze, she doesn't even care if they're well, searching for a familiar face and hair.

“Carmilla, look out!”

She throws herself down on instinct- a flaming spell bursts through the air where her head had been. Directly in front of her, Laura Hollis ducks out of her compartment, face glowing blue as a hex comes out her wand. It seems to hit the target; someone hits the metal door and slides down.

Before they come up again, however, the door opens to let in three Prefects.

“Anyone here?”

Several people shout- the man at the door stirs. One of the Prefects binds him. Carmilla gets back up- and collides with something.

“Hi,” Hollis pants. Carmilla is shocked to find out she is actually _hugging_ her. “Hi- are you okay?”

“You saved my life,” Carmilla says- her voice is painfully garbled, the bruise on her back making it hard to speak. “I'm great.”

Hollis doesn't let go- Carmilla holds her back, tentatively. “Weren't you to the back of the train?”

“I was walking- where are your friends?”

“Danny and Kirsch were after the trolley lady.”

They stay at the head of the train- it hasn't stopped moving, coming closer and closer to London as if nothing had happened. But the car is wrecked, and unconscious students are all over the floor and carts. A Prefect starts binding all people in hoods; he jostles Carmilla accidentally, and she moves back from the hug.

“Laura, you're bleeding.”

Hollis reaches up to her forehead and gasps when her hand comes back red. “I didn't even realize.”

“Who would've thought- the tiniest witch on the train stood her own.”

Hollis sticks out her tongue at Carmilla's teasing. The cart door opens and Lawrence sprints through, Wilson Kirsch hot on her heels. To her dismay, Hollis lets go of Carmilla to hug her friends. After them, Carmilla's own show up.

Perry lifts her into the tightest hug Carmilla has ever gotten. “We were so  _worried_ ,” she says, panicked. She lets her back down and starts running her hands up and down the girl's arms. “Are you okay- did you get hurt?”

“No,” Carmilla lies. She's gotten worse injuries in this life. “I'm good. Are you guys?”

JP and Will tug her into a quick hug too; LaFontaine pats her shoulder. “We're fine. They couldn't make it to us.”

Before they leave the cart, Carmilla thanks Hollis again. A Prefect already healed the cut on her head; she's flustered and tired, but still manages to smile at Carmilla. “Thank you for making me company,” is what she says, before Carmilla gets pulled away.

They arrive in less than half-an-hour, to a frenzied crowd. People are screaming and shouting- aurors orderly enter and get them all out, while others drag the hoods. Carmilla stands on her tiptoes to find Higgs; he's got a blackening eye and a split lip, but waves at Carmilla at her sight. Relief finally starts to make its way through her body.

She only truly feels safe, however, when JP pulls at their joined hands and starts plowing through the crowd. Carmilla's eyes fill with tears when she spots the reason- Mattie is standing by the entrance, her eyes wild and posture faltering. They throw themselves at her, each trying to get as much purchase as possible. Mattie holds them as if they are the most important things in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys had a good week!  
> if you want to ask anything or whatever please feel free


	3. third year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is late but my beta had a busy week

 

 

The Karnstein Manor is permanently silent. Ever since they were children, they've known that sound seems to disappear into the white paneled walls. Whether it's because of some old magic one of their ancestors put up long ago, or just the sheer size of the house, they do not know.

Sound only echoes in the mansion's hall. The floor is white marble, with a maroon circle in the middle. Two long, half-moon staircases lead to the upstairs; behind them, a sitting room, with two doors on opposite sides. One is for the gardens, and the other for the kitchen. The second floor is divided into three wings: North Wing, where their Mother used to live; West Wing, where the guests stay; and the East Wing, where the four Karnsteins now reside. Matska refuses to sleep in Mother's old room.

The kitchen isn't very modern, which suits them. Rarely do they eat here, preferring to floo to restaurants or get muggle delivery – a thing that still confuses Mattie. Traditionally, the servants and elves live on a few rooms by the kitchen; but their only employee, Ms. Spielsdorf, sleeps at the West Wing.

Or used to, as Carmilla finds out.

She comes out of her room, sleep clinging to her lashes. Even after taking her shower, Carmilla is sluggish and grumpy; at first, she blames the sight of Mattie and Ms. Spielsdorf leaving her sister's room as a sleep-addled vision.

And yet, even after she blinks, they are still by the door. And holding hands. And standing very close.

She jumps and gasps loudly. They turn to her, shocked.

“Kitty?”

Carmilla looks between them, her hand to her chest. “When- how- what- what the _hell,_ Matska.”

“Language,” Mattie chides. She catches Ms. Spielsdorf's hand again, though the woman is blushing very hard, and says, “I'm sure you know what ' _the hell'_ this is.”

“You and- you and Ms. Spielsdorf? Why didn't you say anything?” At the blonde's embarrassment, Carmilla adds, “I'm sorry, Ms. Spielsdorf. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Mattie laughs. “You didn't ask.”

Carmilla rubs at her forehead. “All right.”

“You don't have to call me that, Carmilla,” Ms. Spielsdorf says. “You could just call me by my given name.”

“Elizabeth?” Carmilla frowns. “It sounds… odd.”

“Betty,” Mattie says. Ms. Spielsdorf hits her on the arm and she winces. “Call her Betty.”

“You don't have to,” Ms. Spielsdorf says.

“But may I?”

Ms. Spielsdorf is still very red. “Yes.”

“Are we still going to Diagon Alley?”

“Yes.”

“Splendid. I'm off to breakfast. Will and Jeep are still in bed.”

After all the Karnsteins are all caught up on Mattie's love life – JP clapping with excitement and Will frowning then shrugging – they head out by Floo. Carmilla is basically jumping. Both Perry and LaF are going today to buy their supplies, and they have plans to go for candy and look for LaF's new broom.

In the meantime, the trio walks in front of the couple. JP points out things he finds interesting and greets people. Will and Carmilla flank him with equal scowls. The boys have grown quite a bit more than her – she's about at their noses – but her intimidating stare continues the same.

There's a lot of people roaming about. They pass tired, overworked parents, confused muggle couples, and the experienced wizards. Some of them even know Mattie and Betty, who stop to chat sometimes, to her siblings' chagrin.

Eventually they get to Flourish and Blotts. The place is teeming with people, much more so than the outside. Mattie and Betty stay behind, the trio picking their way in.

“What do we need, again?” Will asks, shoulder-checking a man by accident. He apologizes, cringing.

“Standard Book of Spells,” JP tells him. Carmilla ends up sandwiched behind them. “Intermediate Transfiguration... Those are for all of us.”

“All right.”

They reach the counter, where the manager is mumbling. A book seems to be glued to his hand. He keeps shaking it in an effort to get free, even as they start talking to him. He disappears to get their things; Carmilla starts rummaging through their coin bag.

“Hey, guys!”

She hurts her neck from looking up too quickly. In front of her, JP hugs Laura Hollis tightly, a very tall man standing behind them. Something odd happens to her stomach: it feels like it is tying up in knots. A blush spreads to her cheeks.

“Hey,” she says lamely.

Hollis doesn't seem to mind; she hugs her too, the top of her head fitting snugly under Carmilla's chin, and the smiles brightly at Will. “How are you?”

“Great,” JP tells her. “I'm so glad classes are starting soon.”

“I know, right?”

Carmilla takes the manager's return as an exit. Will helps her put everything on Mattie's weightless leather backpack. She pays with great care, delaying as they all continue talking by her. Even Will, the traitor, starts talking about Quidditch, and leaves her no choice.

“Hollis?” she calls. “Are you going to get something?”

“Oh, yeah- Dad, can I have the list?”

The tall man hands her the parchment. Carmilla stands off to the side, unsure if Hollis wants them around.

“What classes are you taking, Carmilla?”

She blinks. “Ancient Runes and Magical Creatures.”

“I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures, too!” Hollis says. “Maybe we'll have class together!”

Carmilla smiles. “That'd be nice, 'Puff.”

The man returns with the girl's things. Her father picks them up as if they're feathers. They all leave the store together, and Carmilla dutifully returns the coin purse to her sister when they're back outside.

“I forgot,” Hollis tugs Carmilla by her shirt sleeve. “You guys don't know my dad.”

“Yeah,” Jeep says, grinning. “Hello, Mr. Hollis.”

“Dad, these are JP, Will, and Carmilla Karnstein. Guys, this is- well, my dad.”

Mr. Hollis shakes their hands firmly. He might've broken Carmilla's hand.

JP turns to Mattie, who is watching her duckling siblings fumble an introduction. Instead of waiting for them, Mattie holds out her hand for Mr. Hollis. “Hello. I'm Matska Belmonde, their older sister. This is my girlfriend, Elizabeth Spielsdorf.”

“Ask her if she thinks we're funny,” Carmilla mutters to Hollis. “She might explode from laughter.”

Hollis starts giggling; she hides it behind her hand. “She seems very nice.”

“You must be Laura Hollis,” Mattie then says, looking down at Hollis. “I've heard much of you.”

“Um- hi.”

Mattie subtly raises an eyebrow at Carmilla's direction. Yes, she knows, she might be the one who spoke the most. “Only good things, I assure you.”

“Guys!”

A flash of orange appears. Carmilla's vision is overtaken by a bright mass of hair. She flails a bit, before JP's yell of 'LaF!' clues her in.

“Curly,” she says. “You're choking me.”

Perry clucks at her and moves on to Will. LaFontaine and her high-five each other.

“Laura,” Perry says delightfully. “You didn't say you were coming today!”

“Kind of last minute,” she explains, making a face. “Didn't think I would.”

They tell her their plan to visit Magical Menagerie. Turns out Laura has been promised a pet by her father, who sighs at Laura's obvious excitement. She reckons he hopes the wizard pets aren't as wild as the tales say. He might be wrong.

The store isn't as full as they expected. There are less than ten people milling about, most of them children pointing at things. Carmilla follows Hollis and JP, who move to a more cute-like part of the shop; the others, followed by a hesitant Perry, move towards some loud scuffling noise to the back.

Hollis reaches into a big square container and picks up a ball-like creature. It's a bigger kind of Pygmy Puff, she thinks. It looks like a cotton ball with tiny paws and huge eyes that peers into theirs.

“How does it walk?” Jeep marvels. She can basically see the cogs in his head.

“I love it,” Hollis declares.

The thing is disgustingly cute, she'll give it that. It matches Hollis. “Are they all the same color?”

“I think so.”

“The Pygmy Puffs at Weasley's have different colors.”

Hollis shakes her head. “I want this one.”

“Okay,” she chuckles. “I think it likes you.”

They find out it's called a Puffskein and that it hums when it's happy. When the lady behind the counter refers to the boxful of them by poffle, Hollis and Perry practically melt. They hang out by the cashier, asking questions, while Jeep and Carmilla continue on to the back.

Inside the many cages are all kinds of animals. By the door, there are a couple of ravens and an old snowy owl, who blinks unseeing eyes at them. After them, a bunch of snails slide their way across fishbowls, switching colors every few seconds. Finally, the cats appear.

She stops in front of them. They're all insanely cute, with wide eyes and tiny meows. Most of them are kittens, though a few fully-grown cats snore at the back of their cages. Carmilla pokes a finger into a black cat's space. It awakens slowly, yawning lazily, and flicks at her finger.

“He sleeps all day,” the lady at the counter says. “But he's a good enough cat. Not much market for an adult, though.”

She looks at Mattie by the door, who is already smiling. “Can I get him, Matska?”

“Sure, darling.”

She leaves the stuffy room with the cat. He snuffles in his cage, content. Hollis cradles her Puffskein in her hand, making faces and noises along with JP.

Will wants to get his owl last, so the group heads to Madame Malkin's for new robes.

“You could just put him in your pocket,” Carmilla tells Hollis. Her Puffskein has fallen asleep, and Hollis keeps trying to gesture with one free hand.

“What if I forget?”

“I'll remind you.”

“What if you forget?”

“Just do it, Hollis.”

She grumbles a little, but puts the furball in her coat pocket. Then, turning away from her conversation with Perry and LaF, she asks: “Why are you so keen on using my last name?”

Carmilla blinks. “Oh- well. It's a common custom not to address someone by their first name without permission. It might be an old pureblood thing, though.”

“Please call me Laura.”

Her cheeks heat up. L _aura_ is smiling at her, as she's wont to do to everyone, but it seems a bit different. Must be a trick of the mind. “Okay, 'Puff.”

Satisfied, Laura steps into the store. Carmilla takes a deep breath and follows her.

“Terrible thing, that was,” Madame Malkin says, stitching someone's robe. From the back, it looks like a normal Gryffindor. She's about to fall back to the waiting area when she speaks again, “In Hogwarts, again, of all places.”

“There are some bad seeds there,” the boy says. With a chill, she realizes it is Ivan Straka. “But they'll be found sooner or later.”

“I suppose. There- you're all set, young man.”

She shuffles quickly out of sight. LaFontaine is waiting for her, though.

“You alright?”

“Yes.”

“You don't have to lie.”

Carmilla's dreams are haunted by the flashes. She sees the green and red spark out of the Hood's wand, sees it coming for her; feels the pain again, over and over in her sleep. Sometimes, the wand is pointed at her brothers or the ginger twins; but, mostly, it's at Laura. And it is even worse that she's always _right there_ , just close enough to touch Laura's arm.

No matter who it is, they're in the ground, motionless.

“I'm fine, LaF.”

 

 

Panic sets in the moment she sees the familiar red engine.

Her brothers keep on walking, chatting without a care in the world. But she's white, petrified, looking at it as if she's seeing a ghost. Until someone bumps into her, jostling her into reality.

“Kitty, don't fall back!”

She catches up to them, gripping her wand tightly.

 

 

“Union,” McGonagall starts, her voice booming. “Union is what got us through the war. And it is union that should be in your minds in the aftermath. Voldemort-”

Half the student body visibly cowers. Carmilla shrinks into herself, paling. McGonagall continues as if nothing happened.

“- counted on us divided. But I will not let us make that mistake again. Many of you look down at your colleagues as threats to our newly found peace. Do not. I will not stand for judgment to be wrongly placed again. It is an insult to all of us.”

With her watchful, eagle-like eyes, the Headmistress waves her hand for the plates to be filled. But most of them are not that hungry anymore. A few seats down, a girl leaves the Great Hall, covering her eyes.

“I thought this would've ended,” an older student says by them. “After the Battle. But He lingers.”

“Don't talk like that,” Will tells him, to everyone's surprise. He stabs his turkey viciously. “Don't give him any credit for what happens now. He's dead.”

A couple of people look at them, perhaps seeing the Karnsteins in a new light. Maybe they all thought of them as bloodheads. But it's clear in Will's haunted eyes and JP's sad expression. Even Carmilla cannot hide behind her facade.

 

 

Care of Magical Creatures is her first class every Monday and Wednesday. It is also the reason why Carmilla might die.

She scared off some first-years by accident with her scowl after breakfast, trying to get past a gaggle of them blocking the exit. It seems like a second skin by the time she makes it to Professor Hagrid's cabin. No Slytherin she knows is taking this class, and the green-ties that mill about are the ones who don't even look her in the eye.

Carmilla is starting to regret her decision, until a hand lands on her upper arm.

“We _do_ have this class together!”

It's Laura. Her smile, as usual, is much brighter than the sun. “You're way too happy, creampuff.”

“I'm the right amount of happy.”

She's not ashamed to say she's muttering. “I don't believe in happiness before lunch.”

Laura rolls her eyes. She's never seen that expression on her. It would be comical, were it not leveled at her. “So grumpy, all the time.”

“Someone has to counterbalance your tiny ball of sunshine,” she grumbles. “Speaking of which, where's that fluffball you call a pet?”

“Oh, Tiberius? He's sleeping in my bed.”

“ _Tiberius_? That name is longer than his _body_.”

“What did you name your cat? Something pretentious, I assume?”

“Bagheera. From the book.”

“See!”

“Where did you even pull Tiberius from?”

Laura smiles sheepishly. “It's from a muggle TV show, _Star Trek_.”

Her response is of utmost confusion. “TV? Who is trekking on stars?”

It's like she's declared war on Cauldron Cakes. Laura's eyes widen, her mouth agape. “You haven't seen television?”

“Is it those things that look like photographs?”

Laura doesn't have time to answer before Professor Hagrid steps out with boxes. He's taller and taller every time she sees him. Hagrid smiles at Laura – of course he does – and asks about her father; she wonders when did Laura become friends with him. Though, truly, two people more alike have never existed.

 

 

There's a big thing they don't tell you about Slytherin: the common room is beyond freezing.

Every day. That's what they get for the great view. Constant shivering from first-years and the bundles of blankets the rest keeps around. It's like they're all masses of fleece and stuffing, moving from one side of the room to another. Sometimes, even the merpeople giggle and point at them, leading a chorus of middle-fingers as response.

But there are nice things about it too. Most upperclassmen are nice to everyone and help confused students with their homework. There are always coats and blankets up for grabbing at a rack by the door, all of them unjinxable. On Fridays, they have chess and Exploding Snap competitions by the glass wall; on Mondays, that same spot is for sleeping.

The elves, after a young boy from second-year mentioned he missed his mom's tea, have taken to leaving a steaming pot of it by the dormitories. Sometimes there are even snack-cakes and brownies. Coffee tends to accompany the cups. On festive occasions, one may even find cookies or eggnog.

It's a great place. People will leave you alone if you ask, but usually you can just talk to everyone with ease. They dare each other to do ridiculous things, such as balance their wand on their forehead while reciting Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, or to sing Celestina Warbeck at the crack of dawn to the Giant Squid – who liked Bohemian Rhapsody a lot better, apparently – for two sickles and the glory.

She's presently settled on a comfortable armchair, her feet hanging off one of its arms. A copy of _Transformation Through the Ages_ on her lap, Carmilla hums an old tune Betty sang while helping her fold her clothes. Jeep is sitting by her side, on a long couch, playing with Bagheera.

“Karnstein.”

They both look up – him with curiosity, her with indifference – at the voice. It's a boy from their year, whose name always eludes her. He's from an old pure-blood family, one of those who probably have long parchments dating their ancestry back to the 1000s.

“Yes?” Jeep says.

“Carmilla Karnstein.”

Both siblings shrug at each other; Jeep cuddles Bagheera at his spot. Carmilla looks pointedly at the boy's angular nose. It looks like an arrow broken in half, still pointing down at his feet as if to hit them.

“What is it?” she asks brusquely.

“I'm Cornelius Leto the Second,” he states pompously. “I have questions about your role at what happened at the train last semester.”

Some of the Slytherins look over their shoulders, probably intrigued. No one has really spoken of “The Incident” since it happened. Carmilla's reaction is much more understated – merely an eyebrow raise.

“I fail to see why I owe you such.”

He shuffles in his place, only heightening her annoyance. “Surely you understand there is doubt regarding what occurred.”

“Did you swallow a dictionary or something?” she groans. “I'll answer some things, on the count that you'll leave me alone afterwards.”

Like a peacock whose feathers were ruffled, Leto continues. “Did you truly fight the Hood pursuing Captain Higgs?”

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“Were there people in the compartment with you?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Yes.” He glares at her, and at the Slytherins who snicker by them. “Fine. Some 'Puffs. I told them to get out of there.”

“Did you meet with Laura Hollis at the end?”

She frowns. “How- yes. I did. Are we done?”

“So you fought the Hoods.”

“I thought that had been established, Leto,” she sighs. “I do not agree with any blood purity discourse.”

“She speaks for all of us,” adds JP. “No Karnstein does.”

“Your mother did.”

The room turns cold and silent. Carmilla's blood boils in her veins. She stands, her book falling to the ground, to meet his gaze eye-to-eye. He backs away slightly, but she breaches the gap with a step.

“Do not,” she seethes, “Talk of my mother. Her doings are not my own, nor my brothers'. Are we understood, or should I hang you upside down so information might reach your pea-sized brain?”

She wishes she could show him, show this presumptuous child what Lilith Karnstein did to her own children. What made Mattie leave, what causes cold sweats and nightmares to plague them all, like an incurable sickness. But alas, she cannot; but she'll settle for staring him down, amid their peers, until he surrenders.

She's read him correctly. Fed on nothing but empty boasts of his family honor and his own value, Leto isn't familiar with other hardheaded people. It is odd that he managed to even get to Slytherin. But as such, Carmilla delivers him the killing blow for a snake – mortification amid his peers.

Leto shifts in his place, and tries to look away; Carmilla follows his gaze, tapping her foot as if he's an uncooperative child. Instead of speaking, Leto dry-swallows and nods. “Quite.”

He leaves; she returns to her seat with her book, winking at her brother.

 

 

Defense Against the Dark Arts is undoubtedly Carmilla's favorite class. She might love Transfiguration, but DADA gives an outlet to her frustrations.

Professor Walsh has taken upon himself to correct what he calls “complete lack of preparation by a series of mediocre teachers and Lupin”: until the NEWT-level classes, they're focusing on spellwork.

“During the War,” he says, pacing in front of the class, “I was shocked to see the Hogwarts' graduates' lack of knowledge. McGonagall has let me rearrange the course guide in favor of creating a more battle-focused class.”

He begins light, with the theory for the Patronus Charm. It's clear that's all they're getting – the Patronus is above and beyond NEWTs, performed perfectly by a handful of wizards in their time. Walsh spends two classes talking about its history and use, about the spell theory behind it, and delves into Dementors.

After the second one, he tells them to list possible memories for the charm.

“You should just think of your crush,” LaFontaine tells her, whispering over a copy of _Hogwarts, a Story._ At Carmilla's clueless look, she snorts. “You know- overexcited 'Puff? Very short? Talks like the world is gonna end?”

Carmilla scowls. “I do not have a crush on Laura Hollis.”

“Sure. Not like you spent lunch staring at the back of her head or anything.”

“I do _not_ stare at her.”

“Then put me as your memory. Your quirky, genius best friend.”

“You overestimate yourself.”

LaF gasps. “You're cheating on me? I thought we had something real!”

“Get over it.”

A noise comes from the back. Laura Hollis shows up with a giant tome in her hands, followed by Danny Lawrence. The latter sees her first, both their faces turning stone-cold; but then Laura spots her too and grins. Carmilla half-smiles in return. When they leave, she says,

“Not a word.”

“Sure.”

What LaF doesn't know – and never will – is that Carmilla's list is terribly small. She cradles it, self-conscious, to class. Even Will's is longer. They sit down by the professor's desk and wait; JP prattles on and on about how hard it was to narrow his memories down.

Walsh gives them a long lecture on what she believes is emotional nonsense, talking about what happiness should feel like when the spell is cast and things like that. She tunes him out, mostly, thinking of a problem she's stuck on at Ancient Runes.

When they're leaving class, Carmilla is stopped by Professor Walsh. In instinct, Will and JP move to flank her, which seems to amuse him.

“Karnsteins,” he begins, his face turning serious. “Next class we're starting Boggarts. If there's any problem – any at all – with the possible manifestation of yours, please tell me.”

It's obvious why. Half their class must have Death Eaters or Voldemort himself as their greatest fear. The worst is there's always darker, more pervasive ones too.

“I do not. My siblings do,” Will tells him.

They merely nod. Professor Walsh accepts that with no further questioning.

 

 

Hostility does not limit itself during DADA classes. The Gryffindors seem to think of all of them as given enemies, and the Slytherins, not to be outdone, match their dislike quite easily. It usually comes to a head during Quidditch.

Carmilla is presently chasing Will, trying to keep the vicious bludgers off his back. His talent is more and more visible, to the point where he's been named Main Chaser by Higgs. Consequently, Carmilla's job is twice as hard, even without Callis making it her primary mission to destroy him.

They're losing, 160 to 100. Higgs is being pelted by Kirsch in conundrum with the Strakas, leaving Takagi to try and cover him. Now Carmilla is basically responsible for all Slytherin Chasers.

The amount of times she's had to pull off absurd maneuvers to protect one of them is ridiculous, but it's gotten the crowd's attention. Even the commentary shifts to her – Ackerley praises her Sloth Roll and sympathizes when, in a fit of frustration, she takes the hit meant for Will, the sound heard throughout the pitch.

She's really trying not to go berserk, but Callis and Kirsch both aim at Will during a play – exactly what they should _not_ do. He dodges the first one, but the second ball hits him in the crown of the head, dropping him a good few meters down. Then all bets are off.

Carmilla chases the bludger, yelling “Take defense, Takagi!” before squaring up a shot. It's scarily powerful for someone her size. It hits Theo Straka's foothold; they all hear a crack, but it it is lost as Carmilla zooms halfway to another one.

“ _They've done it! Carmilla is officially off the rails! Ivan drops the Quaffle to protect his face- Higgs gets it easily- passes to Will. Callis tries for a hit, but Carmilla blocks it- oh, that's got to hurt. Slytherin scores- Will catches kickoff- Theo falls behind with a Bludger to the nose!”_

Aggressive Quidditch is what she's best at. Higgs tends to a more conservative approach, showing his Irish Team qualities, but against Gryffindor it's better to go hard and fast. He accepts Carmilla's strategy, commanding Takagi to destroy Kirsch's defense, with Carmilla dismantling their attacks.

When they manage to hit 160 to 160, he yells,: “Where the bloody hell is the damned Snitch?!”

“Language, Mr. Higgs,” Will taunts, catching a Quaffle aimed for their goal,. “Focus on the hoops!”

“Shut your mouth, William,” he yells back. “Behind you!”

Kirsch checks Will mid-flight; he almost slips out of his broom. With a deep breath, Carmilla re-aims her shot at him.

“ _Down goes Kirsch- can he even see after that hit?”_

“Get the fucking snitch, Adonis!” Takagi screams at their Seeker.

He looks down with slight amusement, but then he stops dead-on to something just above Takagi's shoulder.

“ _Adonis diving- has he seen it? There's the flash- up at the hoops- Will scores again- Slytherin wins!”_

 

 

“Barbaric,” Mrs. Pomfrey mutters, spreading an ointment over Carmilla's purple clavicle. “Absolutely unnecessary.”

Carmilla flinches as she rubs harder. Her teammates laugh, huddled around her seat, trekking mud through the floor. She was basically carried out from the pitch to the hospital wing, much to her chagrin.

The doors open once again; the gaggle of Gryffindor players immediately throws insults at them, matched by offensive statements and rude gestures. After them, LaF, Perry, and JP enter, their faces all in various shades of green paint.

“K,” LaFontaine yells, arms up. “You are my _hero_.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, Red.”

“You did awesome too, Wilbur.”

Will groans loudly. “ _Stop_ calling me that!”

Perry's happiness is tinged with worry; she watches Mrs. Pomfrey finish up with a frown. To her left, Jeep is smiling as if they've won the World Cup.

“Seriously, sibs,” he says, “you guys were unbelievable. Will, you made Lawrence dance on those hoops.”

Will laughs, earning glares from across the room. Mrs. Pomfrey shushes him and walks away.

“Lawrence is used to playing with those mumbling closets Gryffindor calls Chasers. Wasn't hard.”

“And, Kitty,” he continues, ignoring her glare for the nickname, “you made this game the most violent in years!”

“I heard McGonagall say she hasn't seen this many injuries in a decade.” LaF gushes.

“Even though you went against my plan,” Higgs says, raising an eyebrow, “you did well, K.”

“I told you Gryffindor needs to be counter-attack, with Beaters as primary offense-”

“Yeah, yeah, mini coach,” he interrupts. “We're celebrating at the Common Room at eight. Try not to beat anyone up until then.”

“No promises!” the three Karnsteins say in unison.

“Honestly, Carmilla,” Perry tutts after they leave. She helps Carmilla put her shirt back on. “Did you have to be so aggressive?”

“They were beating us into a pulp, Perry,” she groans in pain. “Either that or we lost. And I plan on getting that cup this year.”

“Good luck with that,” says LaF, cheeky. “Can't get past moi.”

“Oh, it is on,” Will shakes her hand. “I'll get you.”

“Come on,” JP says, pulling Carmilla to her feet. “You two need to wash up.”

 

 

She doesn't like Leto one bit. He's like a rat, sneaky and dodgy. He and his group of friends – Ayers, Hodge, Zuckerman, and Kane – are always around, slinking, never actually implying themselves in any “accidents” that happen around them. They all certainly hate them – mainly Carmilla. For what, she doesn't know. either because of her opposition to the Hoods or her defiance of his empty credentials.

Another thing that keeps lodging itself onto her thoughts is the problem of the Hoods. Statements are freed to the press at the start of December, with headlines from _“Hood Thompson says: we're everywhere”_ to _“The Dark Lord's Shadow”_. The Hoods that attacked the train were all seventh-years; but they say now that there's a slew of them inside Hogwarts, in all houses and years.

Someone compared it to 1993's opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Everyone, in some level, suspects the others. Despite McGonagall's attempts of breaching it, the gap between Houses grows and grows with each passing day.

Carmilla doesn't know what to think. She wants to stay out of it, but she's intrinsically connected to the issues at play. An edition of the Daily Prophet called them “The Grey Children”. _'Bound to a philosophy that is not necessarily theirs, the offspring of Voldemort's sympathizers are a group with an unprecedented amount of weight on their backs. Are they simply not their ancestors, or have they followed their footsteps? Can we trust them?'_

There are a few of them around Hogwarts. Two in Gryffindor, three in Ravenclaw, one boy in Hufflepuff, and a lot at Slytherin. Of course, most of them are idiots such as Leto, who probably follow their parents' doctrine because they cannot think on their own.

She wishes she could just tell the school what she thinks of the Dark Philosophy. That it is a load of bullshit and that she's horrified by what it's done to Muggles and Muggleborns. That it's outrageous that wizards went against each other so readily, destroying families and lives at the beckoning of a power-hungry tyrant.

But they believe the Grey Children have some degree of evil in them. And she cannot deny it, for she thinks that of herself sometimes, too.

 

 

Mattie is delighted by LaFontaine's request for their company during Christmas. Whether it's because her siblings have a friend, or because she can now travel guilt-free with Betty is unclear. Either way, the Karnsteins and LaFontaine get off the bus at a wizard village in Ireland.

The LaFontaine household is a cottage by a creek. It is covered in ivy and snow, with two chimneys on top. Without ringing the bell or anything, LaF opens the front door.

The living room glows in the morning sun; a cauldron stews by the window, surrounded by plants; two long couches stretch in a circle around the fireplace, above which there is a large rectangular black thing. From the kitchen, a voice sings along to an old jazz tune, pans clanging in the background.

“Susan, is that you?” comes a voice. A short, pudgy man with a bushy mustache shows up. At the sight of them, he opens his arms. “Welcome! The price for lunch is a hug!”

LaFontaine jumps on her father, hugging him tightly. JP follows suit easily, dropping his suitcase and joining the hug. Will and Carmilla, after exchanging a look, put their things down and approach Mr. LaFontaine. He abandons his previous hug and pulls the duo in, with such force Carmilla's back cracks.

“Come on,” he says, ushering them in. “Food's served.”

They eat noisily, spoons clanking on bowls. Mr. LaFontaine – Jonah, as he is asked to be called – is a potion maker, and tells them of his newest creations and what happened when they didn't work.

“Then boom- gone. Lost my beard.”

“Now I know where she gets it from.” Will smirks.

LaFontaine grows quiet at that. After dinner, they are shown their rooms – the boys are sharing, while Carmilla gets a smaller room by LaF's.

She decides to help LaF unpack. While expanding the broom holder on the wall, she quietly says, “LaF?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?”

LaFontaine just furrows her brow. “Yeah. It's cool.”

“It's insulting you think you can lie to me. We've known each other for years.”

“It's nothing.”

Carmilla toys with the broom's tail end. “If you don't wanna talk about it, I get it. But- I may not be the world's nicest person, but I'd like to listen.”

LaFontaine drops some books on the desk and sits on the bed, cradling her face in her hands. Carmilla seats herself next to her.

“It's just- do you ever feel… different? Like you're not what you're supposed to be?”

Carmilla frowns. “I don't think we're supposed to _be_ anything, LaF.”

“But- I don't know,” LaF sighs. “Every time Dad calls me _Susan_ or _his little girl_ or something I feel- I feel like that's not me, y'know?”

“Oh- you don't feel like a girl?”

LaFontaine drops her head again. “Never mind, it's stupid.”

“What- no, it isn't,” Carmilla says. “You don't have to be a girl.”

“But I don't want to be a boy either.”

Carmilla ponders for a while. “I don't think it's one or the other, LaF. I think you can be in the middle.”

LaF has tears prickling at her eyes. It is a somber sight, to have someone so boisterous this sad. “I tried to talk to Perry but she doesn't get it.”

“I get it. Hey,” Carmilla starts, waiting until LaF raises her eyes again. “Let's do it like this: I'm not gonna treat you like either a girl or a boy for a while. Like, names, pronouns, clothes and everything. And if you like it, then we can work on getting everyone onto it, too.”

LaF laughs through her- _their_ tears. They impulsively hug Carmilla, who doesn't exactly know how to react. “Thanks, K, for this.”

“Don't worry about it. Get me some Chocolate Frogs and we're even.”

 

 

They play a _lot_ of Quidditch. LaF's got a pitch around back, with hoops and everything. JP does his best as a goalkeeper against Will, with Carmilla testing her Chaser skills against LaFontaine. But there's a reason why Ravenclaw is the team with least goals taken and they usually lose. Even then they have fun, running around the snow afterwards, with the promise of hot chocolate and a warm fire.

The day before Christmas, they send out letters. Mr. LaFontaine's owl, Rutherford, goes to Perry with all the four packages. Will's huge and scary owl, Mahler, takes letters to Higgs and Takagi, along with some gifts to LaF's continental family. Kipling, to Carmilla's surprise, takes on four letters and a gift from LaFontaine to Laura Hollis.

She had toyed with the idea of buying Laura something at Hogsmeade. She ended up not getting anything, in fear of it being too much, but now she kind of regrets it, watching Kipling fly away.

Carmilla really, _really_ wants to be Laura's friend. She doesn't know exactly why. She keeps rehearsing possible conversations, even, but when they meet, they all vanish. So she always ends up saying something dark or slightly rude, both of which Laura either takes in stride or rebuffs with her own opinion. Laura is terribly smart, under her big doe eyes and crooked smile, and it never fails to take her aback.

On Christmas day, she realizes her mistake. A bright honey owl brings gifts for the four of them. On the note, Laura's pretty penmanship is clear.

“I'm an idiot,” Carmilla groans, accepting the package. The owl hoots as if agreeing.

Laura got her treats for Bagheera and a boxed cupcake, clearly made by herself, as the frosting is a bit messy. On the note, she had said: “Don't be grumpy today, gumshoe! It's Christmas! - LH” with a smiley face at the end.

She stores those by her bedside.

Mattie got her a new Quidditch bat and a book, _Conjuration for Beginners_. Perry sent her a deep green sweater with a big CK on the back – with instructions to wear it under her Quidditch uniform – and a voucher for free biscuits at the recently opened Chockley's Tea Parlor. LaF proudly hands her with a parchment notebook and quills, to which she responds with a noogie, almost bumping into Jonah.

Will's laughter stops as he opens a box and something jumps out at his face. It's a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes prank gift sent by JP, who laughs hysterically in his seat. When Will turns to Carmilla, she also doubles in amusement – his face is covered in clown makeup.

“And that,” Jeep announces, “Is for the Charms homework you stole from me.”

 

 

She kind of misses the cottage. Hogwarts is great and all, but getting constantly glared at gets tiring after a while.

“How was your break?”

Carmilla turns from the disgusting Flobberworm in front of her to look at Laura. She's got on huge garden gloves that dwarf her hands. “'twas fine. Yours?”

“Great. Dad and I went to my Aunt Felicity's place and we had a huuuuge dinner with the rest of the family. Was a lot of fun. I also saw my friends from back home, so that was nice.”

Laura almost drops a full head of lettuce onto the crate full of wiggling worms. Carmilla chuckles. “Careful, spaz. Don't crush 'em. They might be grosser.”

“Debatable,” Laura huffs.

“Soon it will be hippogriffs,” she says. “That'll be interesting.”

“Interesting or deadly?”

“Deadly _is_ interesting.”

Laura makes a face. “You're so weird. But yeah, I'm excited for that class.”

“Just two more months with the creatures of hell.”

A particularly fat worm moves with a thud; both girls gag. “Two months too many.”

She usually walks Laura to the Hufflepuff table – probably just out of habit – but today Lawrence is expecting her at the entrance. Carmilla doesn't spare her a glance, quickly nodding at Laura, and speeds past. Not quickly enough, though, for she hears Lawrence speak.

“She's such a creep, that Karnstein.”

Her stomach shouldn't bottom out, but it kind of does. Laura makes some noise behind her, but she's doesn't want to hear the rest of the conversation. She sits at the Slytherin table, squeezing between her siblings.

“What's wrong?” Jeep asks, after taking one glance at her face. At her silence, he persists. “Did someone say something?”

“Nothing.”

Will subtly puts an arm around her back. That is kind of how it's always worke: JP has the words, Will gives support, and Carmilla takes action. Sadly, with time, Will has gotten less willing to give out comfort; she must look pretty upset for him to try.

“We can talk about it later,” Jeep decides. “Try to eat, yeah?”

Carmilla doesn't manage to eat anything. The mere sight of the food makes her stomach churn. She might try and sneak to the kitchens, via the path LaFontaine taught her, after this. So, instead of digging in like her brothers, she stares at the main table.

She must look terribly upset, because Professor Hagrid catches her eye and smiles. He is a kind man, even after everything he has been through. He is nice to everyone, no matter which House they are from. Maybe he has a soft spot for black-haired orphans, or just the lost ones.

He reminds Carmilla of her father, which is why she cannot bring herself to talk to him. So she nods at him, her expression softening on its own accord, and it's enough for the professor. He returns to his plate, the familiar sparkle in his eye still present.

Hopefully, one day, she'll be content like him.

But, for now, she's sullenly guided by Will to their tree outside. It is still cold, but the Giant Squid has a long tentacle up. It kind of waves at them in recognition as he passes by.

“What's up, Kitty?”

She crosses her arms over her knees, bending to hide her face on her forearms. “I'm being too emotional. It's nothing of importance.”

“I'd agree if it were JP,” Will says lightly. Jeep gasps in mock-offense. “But you're made of sterner stuff than the both of us.”

“Is it some of those Gryffindors?” Jeep asks.

A strong wind blows by, knocking Jeep's flappy knit cap to the ground. He fusses to get it; she waits until he does. “It's a bit of a heavy issue.”

“Tell us.”

“I've been thinking-”

“Oh no.”

She huffs a laugh. “Shut up. I've been thinking about, well,” she sobers up. “Some of the things Maman did.”

William and JP tense up at the mention of her. “What things?” JP asks tentatively.

“Are we evil? Have we been fated to it?”

Will is affronted by the question. “Who gave you that idea?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. Just wondering. It seems everyone thinks so.”

“Not everyone,” Jeep counters. “Not LaFontaine or Perry.”

“I don't know.” She's frowning. “I'm- I'm afraid. Of being less like Dad and more like…”

They all fall into silence. She's sure these questions plague them daily.

“I think no one is completely good,” Will slowly says. “Nor bad- except, obviously, for V- You-Know-Who. But we're trying to be good. Maybe that's enough?”

Jeep echoes Carmilla's thinking. “It has to be. We can't do anything else.”

 

 

“Tilt the wand a little bit more.”

Carmilla tries again; the broken cup stirs a little, the fallen off piece almost mending.

“Say it more forcefully.”

“ _Reparo_.”

To her mortification, Carmilla is not very good at Charms. She's got the top marks in Transfiguration and DADA, but she's hopeless at it and History of Magic. Though truly, no one is _that_ good at the latter, except perhaps for Perry.

Who is currently trying to help Carmilla master a first-year spell. She's very patient, in opposition to Carmilla.

“Myrtle's knickers,” she grumbles under her breath. “This is impossible.”

“You transfigured a whole china set into tortoises yesterday,” Perry tells her. “You can do this.”

After a couple of more tries, Carmilla manages to fix the cup. It is a messy finish, the porcelain bumpy, but she is actually quite proud of herself. Perry claps in that weird way she does, her shoulders going up, and helps her off the chair.

They are in an empty classroom after a long History of Magic lesson. Binns hardly cares if anyone hangs around after he floats past the door, so they often stay behind to finish work – Perry's case – or nap – Carmilla's case.

“How's Care of Magical Creatures going?” Perry asks, dusting herself off. Carmilla picks up her bag, groaning a little under the weight of her Runes book.

“It's good. We're meeting Professor Hagrid's hippogriffs next class.”

“Oh, Laura mentioned that,” Perry smiles at the mention of her friend's name. “She's pretty eager.”

“It must be fun, to read about all these things we have outside the Muggle spectrum. To experience things first-hand.”

Perry hums. “I was like that, after living so long with Muggles. But never as animated as Laura is, I'm afraid.”

A fondness passes by Carmilla's face. She tries to hide it. “Yeah, hardly anyone can be.”

“You two are friends, now, right?”

She pauses. “I don't know.”

Perry is confused. To her, most things are black or white. It's one of the reasons why Carmilla and her work so well together; she helps Carmilla look at the bigger picture. Carmilla, meanwhile, tries to show Perry that the world is also many shades of gray.

“What do you mean?”

They are approaching the staircases; both skip a trick step on the way down. “She might not want us to be friends. Maybe she's listening to Lawrence.” Perry stops dead on her tracks. Her face is somewhat troubled. Carmilla knits her brows. “What?”

“I've known Danny for a while,” Perry sighs. “Our parents are friends. After she moved south, though, we kind of lost contact. I think her cousins are getting to her. She's been different.”

“She wasn't this judge-y before?”

Her resentment shows through her tone. Perry doesn't disagree with her.

“She thinks everyone not inside the Auror Offices or from the Order must be evil. It's just… impractical. And her father being a war hero and all- she thinks she's a bastion of truth or something.”

Carmilla purses her lips. In someway, Danny's change has affected Perry; another file to Carmilla's ' _reasons to antagonize Lawrence_ '.

“Do you think- no, never mind.”

“What is it, Carmilla?”

They stop just shy of the ground floor. Carmilla shuffles her feet. “Do you think she tells Laura bad things about us? About me and the boys?”

If she does, she'll have to deal with Perry's displeasure. At Carmilla's words, her pleasant expression turns into indignation. “Well, I certainly hope not. As if she knows you three at _all_. Besides, if Laura even believed her – which I don't think she would – I'd tell her it isn't true.”

Carmilla smiles a little; Perry seems mollified by it. “Why?”

They walk towards the greenhouses, tugging on their coats. The weather hasn't let up yet, despite it already being February.

“You're my friend,” Perry eventually states. “And I'm not letting anyone speak ill of you.”

And damn, if she isn't grateful for Lola Perry.

 

 

There are three things she knows for sure:

  1.  Hippogriffs are still _very_ big.



  1.  They are still incredibly beautiful.



  1.  Laura Hollis has absolutely no sense of personal safety.




Laura was the first to volunteer to interact with the hippogriffs. Professor Hagrid had put them in a huge paddock for their interaction; they could easily leave, given they had _wings,_ but they had stayed. Some even came closer to sniff them.

But Laura wasn't content with being separated by a fence, no. She had to pick the biggest one out of the group and curtsy to _him_.

Goddamn brave Hufflepuffs.

For a brief second, the hippogriff shows no sign of bowing back. Then, slowly, his head lowers; he walks forward to bump his beak on Laura's outstretched hand. After what seems like an eternity, Laura straightens up and pets him happily.

“That's how yeh do it,” Hagrid says proudly. “Now e'ryone else.”

She freezes up by the paddock's entrance. As the group goes in, heading straight to the smallest one of the herd; she should probably follow, but fear suddenly grips her.

“Somethin' wrong?”

Carmilla looks up at Hagrid. “My father used to be a hippogriff breeder.”

Her voice is so tiny it might as well have vanished in the wind, but Professor Hagrid still hears it. He lays a huge, heavy hand on her shoulder. “Yeh can stay here. If yeh 'ver wanna see 'em, let me know.”

She nods tightly. “Thank you.”

“Look, Carmilla!” calls a voice. It's Laura, waving from her spot. “He's so cute!”

Carmilla drops her head onto her hand. “Don't look away from him, cupcake. It's not polite.”

Laura salutes her and returns to her new friend. Fleetwing, as Hagrid says his name is, nuzzles into her palm. Though reticent, Carmilla cannot keep from regarding with some awe. Hippogriffs are extremely proud and dangerous creatures, who like very little people. Fleetwing, as she can see, is the “control animal”, the one they sort of follow.

Hippogriffs don't have alphas. Fleetwing is purely the one they follow most, the one with the most initiative. But they are all equal, something she's always found cool about the species.

He is comically bigger than Laura, who has lagged behind in her classmates' height gain.

“He's very gentle with her,” Carmilla comments with the professor. Hagrid hums. “Has he had young?”

“Aye,” he responds. “Some couple of 'em.”

“Oh.”

She does like them. Hippogriffs have always been her favorite animals, tied with Sphinxes. But it is raw, to see them like this. It reminds her of times long past, where the three kids would sneak out with Dad to see his herd greet the sun.

“What was yer Dad's name?”

Her mouth feels dry. “Um- Julius. Julius Paul Luce.”

“Not Karnstein?”

“That wasn't- it wasn't his.”

He doesn't press the issue, for which she is grateful. But he must know the name. It was all over the news when… when it happened. At least, she thinks, watching Laura giggle with a classmate, it is not just Mother's name associated with hers.

 

 

A boy from Ravenclaw gets stupefied during a Quidditch game for putting his hood up when it starts raining. Two weeks later, a group of Slytherin girls find a slur scratched onto a bathroom door on the second floor, with threats to the Muggleborns. Professor McGonagall has to dispel a group of Dumbledore Army wannabes, who decided to enforce order on their own.

It seems, at first, that the captured Hoods had lied. There were no real threats inside the castle for most of the year. A week of exams had befallen the students, the library crammed with fifth-years and seventh-years, as both the Wizarding Examinations Authority and the Department of Magical Education has decided to up the ante.

Their year is not safe either. Professors are piling more and more information upon them, to a rate where Carmilla can't keep up. She forgets about a dissertation about a Warlock war in favor of finishing her star chart, with Jeep's halfhearted help.

JP, the excelling student he is, is keeping up with the professors' demands, but in detriment of his sleep. It is funny, though, for both stressed out siblings, because Jeep has – even more of – a tendency to ramble on when tired. He manages to talk Perry's ear off about cauldron specifications. Though, truthfully, only because she is too polite to tell him to stop.

The exams eventually end, however, to everyone's relief. Mid-April, they have a scheduled visit to Hogsmeade, during which she hopes to buy all the candy in the world. So the five set off in the busy town streets, looking for something to do.

“Let's go first to Three Broomsticks,” Will suggests. “I could really use something warm.”

“As long as the next stop is Honeydukes, I'm in.”

“Or we could go to Madame Puddifoot's,” LaF says. They all stop to think about the terrifying pink aberration.

Carmilla is quick to answer. “I'd rather kiss a gnome.”

The place is packed, as expected. They manage to find a seat by the far window, behind some tall, rowdy students. Carmilla stretches in her seat, slouching, while Jeep remains prim and proper beside her. Will decides to help Perry get their drinks, leaving LaFontaine alone on the other side.

“K, I have a question.”

“Cool.”

At her lack of interest, LaF continues. “How do you like Hollis?”

Carmilla can feel herself tense up. “Well enough, I suppose.”

“Because you've been dropping things around her lately-”

“Okay, look. The raven literally flew away from my table and bumped into her-”

“- and it kind of looks-”

“- I am not _dropping_ anything-”

“- like you have a crush on her.”

Carmilla snorts audibly; Jeep is smiling beside her. “Shut up. I don't.”

“Why are you lying?” They stretch the last syllable until Carmilla raises her eyebrows.

“Why are you poking in business that isn't yours?”

Used to her pointed quips, LaFontaine just rolls their eyes. “You'd do us all a favor if you just owned up to it. Besides, I'm bored. Perry doesn't like anyone, I'm _way_ too into Potions, Will is a brick wall, and JP doesn't understand attraction at all.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Jeep. It's true, though.”

“I think people are cute sometimes.”

LaFontaine nods in approval. “You're honest. I respect that. Please teach your sister.”

“I don't even know what _crushing_ is like.” She glowers.

“Oh, come on. It's what happens in books.”

“You both fall in love and then it ends in disaster?”

“What are you even reading?”

“Betty has been sending me books. She likes tragedy, I've learned.”

“Really, _Betty_?”

“I was just as surprised.”

LaF shakes their head. “Don't change the subject!”

“You asked a question!”

“It was rhetorical.”

Thankfully, the others show up again, Will having trouble balancing cups. Carmilla takes a coffee from his hand and busies herself with it, avoiding both Jeep's and LaF's gazes.

They stay there for about an hour, talking about ridiculous things, such as teenagers do. LaFontaine almost knocks their cup over several times, Perry wipes the table three times, and Jeep forgets what he's saying twice. Overall, a pretty good average for all of them.

When they leave the tavern, less people are milling about. A lot of movement is coming from Gladrags and Honeydukes, as usual. They start up the path, coming halfway to Honeydukes, when there is a loud snapping noise, like something coming through thin air.

Carmilla doesn't think much of it but turns to see, and it's a sight that brings bile to her mouth. There are two men in hoods in the middle of the street, a cylinder of still dust in the air around them. One of them looks directly forward – in his arm a black snake, visible as he lifts his wand.

Next to him, though-

“Vordenberg,” Jeep breathes next to her. “He's- alive?”

“Run!”

LaFontaine grasps Perry's hand, just as figures start popping up in between the Three Broomsticks and them, and sprints towards Honeydukes. Will pulls at his siblings' hands, alert when they are frozen in shock, and tugs them both to follow.

“Filth!” Someone yells; a spell runs just past Carmilla's shoulder.

Carmilla speeds up, reflexes kicking in. She pushes them past Honeydukes, hoping to get at least to Zonko's, where there are less targets. But then she sees a flash of honey hair and hesitates.

“Come on, Carm-”

She lets go of Will's hand, bumping through the crowd of people running past to duck into the store. Her brother tries to yell out for her, but the mass pushes him back. LaFontaine, though, breaks away to find her.

“What are you doing?”

“I saw-”

It doesn't matter, though; a shattering of glass stops her from going inside. It rains on everyone frantically trying to escape. Someone bumps into her and she falls to the ground, cutting her hand on the shards on the floor.

“Carmilla!”

LaFontaine pulls her by the hand, staining their fingers in the process; another flying curse lands by their feet. There are more and more snaps, hooded figures appearing from the road to the Shrieking Shack, all heading towards the cavalcade of students.

“Hollis. I saw her-”

“We have to _go_.”

She can see professors engaging in combat. They are precise and agile, as people that have done that before. Professor Walsh, in his long robes, looks like a dementor from picture books, raining down curses upon the Hoods. But even he cannot stem the flow; two Hoods break away from the group and run toward the shop.

The owner steps out, a short, stout man. He pushes the two inside and yells, “Keep to the back! I'll hold them off!”

LaF tugs her further in, past destroyed displays. They almost trip on a couple of crushed lollipops – Carmilla emptily wonders what flavor they were. She hears the booming voice of the owner yell out, but what he says is lost; they throw themselves behind a series of crates.

Then there is another shattering, and a thunk as a box bigger than both of them falls to the ground. They can see, then, a Hood – his face, shockingly young, devoid of feeling, pointing his wand directly at the man.

“ _Expulso!_ ”

A tremendous blast and blue light emit from the door; the man, whose eyes were so worried and kind, is thrown backwards, into the crates. They can do nothing but watch him collapse, like a sack of clothes, by their feet. She tries to cover LaF's eyes, but it's of no use.

People explain to her later what happened. That Aurors were soon there and arrested most of them, only a few escaping. That Honeydukes was actually empty besides them, and that Laura had fled far enough. That Perry, JP, and Will had ran back to them, Perry shaking their shoulders until they respond.

She remembers none of it. All that stayed was the memory of LaF in her hold and the emptiness of that poor man's eyes.

 

 


	4. fourth year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) THAT TRAILER!!!!!! I CRIED IT WAS SO GOOD AND GAY!!!!! I AM EXCITEMENT!!!
> 
> 2) when you're fourteen you start using some words that you hear cool adults saying, you know? quite liberally. therefore, there are a lot of those words in this.  
> shoutout to my beta for being patient with my hyphens. sorry, dude.

 

 

“No.”

A meow is followed by pawing at her covers. Carmilla tries to pull them further up, but Bagheera is insistent, sitting directly over her chest, keeping the fabric still. She scowls at him.

“I am not getting up.”

Bagheera looks at her with his yellow eyes. It really looks as if he's glaring. She glares back.

“Ask Will to feed you.”

His patience seems to be waning. Another meow.

“Owls aren't half as much work.”

He literally steps on her face.

“ _Fine_.”

She gingerly slips out of her covers, putting her slippers on as slowly as possible. Bagheera impatiently stands by the door, meowing loudly. She steps into the bathroom, her cat following. Then, muttering nonsense, Carmilla slugs her way to the kitchen.

“Good morning, darling.”

Mattie is always flawless in the mornings. Her long black hair up in a tight bun, sipping on her tea; Betty sits beside her, absentmindedly stirring her own cup, reading the newspaper. She smiles at Carmilla. They really are the prettiest couple in the world.

“Hey, sis,” Jeep chirps. “I made you coffee too.”

She pours Bagheera's food into his bowl, groaning to put it down. Jeep watches her behind his glasses and hands her a cup without a word; it is straight black coffee. She grunts by the way of thank you.

“What time are we going?”

“In about three hours,” Mattie says in her airy voice. “You've all packed, correct?”

“Yeah,” they both answer. Jeep then adds, “I don't know if Will is, though.”

Betty sighs. “I asked him yesterday.”

“Make him do it today, then,” Mattie quips. Betty glowers. “Sorry, my love.”

Carmilla makes a whipping sound and both the youngest giggle, not stopping even at Mattie's glare. Betty perks up, proud.

They do end up making him do so, with a lot of grumbling. The Karnsteins arrive early, as usual; they must look terribly odd, in the middle of muggle London. Two tall women who look nothing alike and three gangly teenagers with deathly pale skin, who stop just shy of an empty wall.

“Don't get into trouble,” Betty is saying, straightening Will's tie. “Carmilla, please don't antagonize your colleagues. And Jeep… be careful with the experimental spells.”

Carmilla grimaces while JP pouts. But they nod anyway, simply because Betty will appreciate it, and then briefly touch their sister's hand before going in. They vanish in line with each other, JP in the rear, like they've tended to do over the years.

She kind of hates the platform. It seems to always mean the end of something good – or the start of something terrible – and leaves her reeling to reconnect to this other part of her life. After a while, she'd become accustomed to waking up to Will's loud music and the occasional burst of noise from an experiment at JP's room. She'd gotten used to Mattie's teasing and Betty's purple bunny slippers.

It goes by without incident, though Carmilla's guard never goes down.

 

 

She is perfectly aware her siblings have grown even more. She also knows she is basically the same height. Therefore, there is no reason for LaFontaine to constantly call her out on it.

“We should get you a stool,” they say, walking besides Carmilla while she tries to pick up books around the library. “Maybe that'd help. Or get your stool a stool, because, you know.”

“You really do enjoy the sound of your own voice, don't you, ginger?”

“There is no sweeter sound. Other than explosions.”

“The day I snap and destroy your face,” she speaks casually, flipping through a book on dragons. “You'll be able to tell them, 'oh, she tried to contain her anger, but I simply could not stop being a pain in the ass', while I kick and scream to Azkaban.”

LaF just smirks, like the jerk they are, and plops down on a seat. She drops her books, making a louder sound than intended; but it's the first weekend in the year, so no one really cares.

“Why are you picking these up, anyway?”

“Oh, I grew interested in some creatures I'd seen on one of Betty's novels, so I wanted to dig a little. Besides, the only subject I actually want to study is professor-less.”

LaFontaine's brows knit. “Did something happen to Walsh?”

“What- no. I'm way ahead of Walsh's classes. Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I thought you didn't care about that.”

“I don't care about much, but yes.”

“Where is the professor, then?”

“Something about giants? I wasn't all there during the Welcoming Feast. There was food and I was eating it.”

“Doesn't he have those mutant crabby-like things?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell.”

“Professor Hagrid is an interesting teacher, even with his unorthodox 'things'.”

“Maybe I should've taken that class.”

She rolls her eyes; LaFontaine picks up a heavy tome and starts thumbing through it. They settle in relative silence, only LaF's foot tapping and the occasional rustle of pages.

It is a bright afternoon, the sun high in the sky. It is almost a shame that they've stayed inside. The others had gone to the lake, Perry reluctantly separated from her platonic soulmate. But Carmilla and LaF have ended up sticking together more often than not, so when she said she was staying, LaFontaine decided to do so too.

She is well aware, however, that she will always be second best to Perry, in LaF's eyes. Not that she lets it bother her too much, but it is almost like everyone is paired up. Perry and LaFontaine, Will and JP. There is no one without the other. She is used to it, truly. But it is nice to have LaFontaine around.

 

 

Laura is a creature of habit.

Carmilla has known this for a while, ever since they started sitting together at classes. She always puts her pen and ink on one side, goes to lunch at a specific time, and even rotates her ties in a pattern. She only notices the latter when they're at Care of Magical Creatures, and a particularly spunky bowtruckle gets into a fight with the fabric, tearing a hole through the bottom; she complains about having to wear 'the wrong tie' tomorrow.

Laura is pouting as Carmilla manages to wrestle the thing into a box. “This is what you get for being altruistic and helping Hagrid clean up before class.”

“I'm a nice person. I like helping.”

Carmilla stifles a familiar fond smile. She gets them a lot around Laura, for some reason. She supposes it's a reaction Laura gets from everyone. “Too nice for your own good, 'Puff.”

Laura turns to her with a teasing grin. “You're nice too, Carmilla. Don't think I haven't seen you help Jeep with this homework.”

She winks in response, moving to give Hagrid the box. “Don't tell everyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Classes with Hagrid are quickly becoming her favorites, trumping even DADA. Instead of spells she quickly masters and Lawrence's sneering face at all times, she gets fascinating creatures and Laura's quick smiles. Hagrid himself is kinder than she believes to deserve; he points out things he enjoys from her essays and talks to Laura and her about his days as a student.

Today is an example of how great his classes are: he brings out – to the cooing of several students – many cages containing black, long-nosed Nifflers. They make weird noises from inside, clawed paws scratching at the metal.

“They're so _cute_ ,” Laura says beside her. “I want one.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, creampuff, but they're terrible pets,” she tells her, chuckling. “A friend of my father's used to raise them, and they destroyed his wife's car looking for a shiny penny.”

She doesn't realize what she's said until she sees Laura surprised expression. “Did your dad raise them too?”

Carmilla stammers, sweat growing in her palms. She clears her throat. “Hagrid's gonna talk.”

Laura, in an unexpected move, drops the subject, and looks over at Hagrid.

They separate into pairs, theirs being a given; Hagrid hands them the tiniest one, dropping him into Laura's happy arms. Instead of moving to run and hunt, the Niffler nudges her with its snout, drawing giggles from the Hufflepuff.

It is a competition to see how many fake galleons the pairs will get. The girls aren't that invested in it, instead watching as the young rodent tries to keep up with its elders, failing miserably. It is, she decides with a shrug, pretty cute.

Some girl from Slytherin gets the huge chocolate bar when she wins and they all hoot and clap. Hagrid has managed to get the two houses to become friends during his class, with a lot of groups consisting of Slytherin/Hufflepuff friendships; they cheer the girl on, who blushes, and offers them all some of her spoils. If that's not a statement to how similar the two houses are, Carmilla doesn't know what is.

Laura hangs around to help Hagrid again, so Carmilla sighs and stays too.

“Karnstein,” Hagrid calls as she stores another Niffler by the garden. She looks up at his kind, weathered face. “One o' the hippogriffs had young. Stop by some time, yeh?”

An involuntary smile comes to her lips; she remembers seeing some stumbling young back when she was a child. They're clumsy and confused for the first few months, wings often too big for their bodies. If Hagrid wants her to visit, he probably means to have someone help out with the other hippogriffs, who might feel lonely as their kin retreat to take care of their offspring.

“Sure, Professor,” she says easily. “Maybe after next class?”

He gives a deep belly laugh, the kind you expect from fathers and uncles. “A'ight.”

Hagrid then hands Laura – who just turned the corner – a mug. It is comically big for her; she holds it in two hands, splaying her fingers wide to get a grip, and smiles up at him. “Thank you, Hagrid. Do you mind if I stay a bit longer?”

“Always a pleasure,” he tells her, and goes back inside his hut. From inside, he calls out, “Keep 'er company, Karnstein.”

She makes herself comfortable in the steps of the hut, Laura sitting beside her. She blows softly against her drink as they watch the clouds pass by; she gets a whiff of its smell. “Hot chocolate?”

Laura looks sheepish. “I know it is usually for kids, but Hagrid makes it for me when I miss home.”

Carmilla picks at a loose strand in her robes. “That's nice of him.”

“Yeah,” she waits a little bit. The wind picks up. Laura pushes her hair to one side and takes a sip before saying, “Do you ever miss home too?”

Carmilla stops to think for a second.

A few years ago, she would've loathed to go back home. When Lilith still walked the halls of the mansion, with her children locked in their rooms, secrets bouncing off the paneling of her office. When Carmilla feared her own shadow, knew every nook and cranny for hiding, and slept in fear of what hid under the unassuming trapdoor in the pantry. It was a time of a deep dark shadow over them, the triplets always expecting icy remarks, rude orders. She'll never forget, for example, the occasional bruise one of their house-elves, Dasper, showed, while he carefully, with shaking hands, folded up laundry.

The elves were the closest thing to company they had then. It is why she defied Maman's wrath by freeing them. Carmilla recalls with startling clarity the hug she got from Dasper's sunken frame as she gave him her nightcap. In contrast… in contrast, she recalls too the aftermath, and why she knows the feeling of cold rock under her trembling fingers, and the sound of her own weeping.

But now she has Betty and Mattie, who make them breakfast in the mornings, take them to Diagon Alley, and even hug them when they leave. And, even though she feels guilty for bringing a level of responsibility no young woman should have on both of them, she feels incredibly lucky to have them anyway.

So she answers, “A little. But I have a home here, too.”

Hagrid returns with a mug for Carmilla too, and takes up a big wooden chair by their side. Behind him, she can spot char marks in the stone walls; probably Hagrid's reminder of his own painful past. But he smiles and tells them of the fight he stopped between two Blast-Ended Skrewts the day before, and she thinks maybe she'll be like him someday.

Maybe she'll get Laura to smile that much in her own right, too.

 

 

They lose against Gryffindor. Both teams, stressed and pissed off, start playing dirtier by the fourth time the snitch disappears; Carmilla hits their Seeker, preventing them from catching the golden ball of doom, though they have no chance of coming back.

Sadly, though her teammates praise her for it, Carmilla gets a broken nose and a split lip for it.

They land on the pitch all together; Takagi puts a hand on her shoulder, consoling, while Higgs mutters beside him. “Fucking red giant keeper,” he growls, making Takagi smirk, “Can't get past her.”

“S'alright,” Takagi tells him, squeezing Carmilla's shoulder. “We'll get 'em next time.”

Will dejectedly walks beside her, both their brooms in his hand. He opens the door to the changing room and immediately ducks into a shower stall. “I'm going to wallow in my misery over here. Goodbye.”

“Don't stay there too long.” She tries to say, though it just sounds like garbled nonsense behind her bloody hands.

Someone, probably Adonis, tosses her a handkerchief. She stops by the sinks to try to wash her face, but gives up as the blood keeps flowing down; no one in here is any good at healing charms, so she sighs and lets herself be dragged outside by Takagi, with strict instructions to head to the hospital wing.

She starts off that direction, when a couple of students go up her way. Carmilla already expects her brother, LaF, and Perry, but Laura is with them; her stomach feels funny at the sight of her flushed face.

“Carm!” she yells, sprinting up to her and throwing her arms around Carmilla.

“Careful,” Carmilla tells her, holding onto her arm as she tries to back away. “I'm bleeding, it'll get all over you.”

Laura tsks. “We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey.”

JP pokes his head over Laura's, frowning. “This is the fourth time, Kitty. You have a problem.”

“Why is it always you? Is there a magnet or something?” LaF says casually, as if commenting on the weather.

“It's because she keeps _throwing herself at danger,_ ” Perry half-yells, taking a hold of her arm. She starts pulling Carmilla – and consequently, all of them – towards the castle. “Honestly, Carmilla, you'd think you have no self-preservation.”

“Not on the pitch,” she smirks, teeth red. “Part of the job.”

Laura takes a hold of the back of her Quidditch shirt and doesn't let go until they get to Pomfrey; the wing is full of Gryffindors. At Laura's entrance, Lawrence calls her up, gleaming eyes taking no stock of her current company. Carmilla prepares herself for Laura leaving, but all Laura does is shake her head and say, “I'll talk to you later, Danny.”

She misses Lawrence's face fall; LaFontaine and Carmilla share a look of amusement.

Madam Pomfrey is, yet again, exasperated at the sight of her. Carmilla gives her a cheeky red grin. “Hello, Madam. How are you?”

She huffs and leads her to a cot. “Every time, Karnstein,” she says, with no small amount of concern behind those words. “And always a different part of you.”

“I like to vary. Keeps things interesting.”

The small orphan inside of her kind of enjoys being by Madam Pomfrey – the kind of caring she gives, the selfless and maternal patching up, the small talk she keeps up when her injuries are specially hard – are things she has never been privy too. That part of her clings to Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey like a child to their teddy bear; they both remind her of what she has not, and will never have.

So she lets Madam Pomfrey tut and scold her for how long she wishes. And, this time, she even gets to hold Laura Hollis' hand, which is worth a thousand bludgers to the face.

While her friends tease William over his childish pout, she shyly catches Laura's attention. “Thanks for coming with us,” she says almost inaudibly, “I- uh- know you probably want to hang out with the giantess and all-”

Laura blinks; she's got a bit of red on her cheeks still. “Don't be silly. I wanted to make sure you're okay.” She stops briefly, pursing her lips before speaking again. “I was worried, you know. You were bleeding quite a lot.”

“Madam Pomfrey is gonna patch me up,” she tells her. Her stomach continues to feel as if a group of Pygmy Puffs are dancing inside of it. “I'll be good as new soon.”

At that point, Madam Pomfrey brings out her wand to straighten Carmilla's nose. With a loud pop, it clicks back into place. Everyone but Carmilla winces. “I'll see you next game, Karnstein,” she sighs. “And William, try not to follow your sister's footsteps, will you? It's like the Weasley twins all over again.”

“Aye,” LaFontaine salutes her, “We'll make 'em behave.”

“I'll believe it when I see it.”

They file out of the room, with Laura's hand still in hers. And, despite their defeat, Carmilla reckons this is the best game ever.

 

 

They actually get to go home for this Christmas. Mattie's work brings her back to England for a short time, and Betty had arrived just in time for the pre-Christmas Karnstein games.

Due to not living with them for many years, Matska is suitably confused as her siblings gather around a table in a sitting room, with a tower of Exploding Snap cards and three boxes of Gobstones. The latter even have small painted-on initials- the house-elves had snuck in some ink for them, seven years ago, after they'd presented them with a clumsy-though-earnest Christmas carol while Maman was away.

They set up the Gobstones first; Mattie and Betty watch them play a couple of games before joining in, losing spectacularly against Jeep. Mattie grumbles a little about it, but settles after the other two explain they've been losing for _years_ , and in fact they've just been combating for the second place.

Mattie downright refuses to play Exploding Snap – “I quite like my eyebrows and I'd like to keep them if you don't mind, children” – but Betty is thoroughly interested. She tries to make their pyramid as structurally sound as possible, resulting in the tallest card tower they've ever done. It almost reaches the ceiling by the time Will puts another card- and then the structure explodes, leaving his face covered in soot.

As they leave, Mattie has to duck to avoid hitting a low-hanging chandelier. It sparks a question she's had since childhood.

“Hey, Matska,” Carmilla says, as she accompanies Mattie to the kitchen, “How tall was your father?”

If she didn't know Mattie, she'd miss the telltale signs of surprise in her face – a slight widening of eyes, a quick breath. She's similar to their mother in that way; stone-faced, hard to read. “My father- he was quite tall. Why, short one?”

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “I was just asking. I never met him.”

“Well, I never met your father either.”

“He wanted to see you, y'know?”

Mattie stops in her tracks, halfway into taking out ice cream off the fridge. She looks at Carmilla strangely, as if she'd revealed to her she hated Quidditch. “He did?”

“Yes,” she continues, frowning. “Maman- of course she didn't tell you. He wanted you at our Christmas' and all, but Maman refused. He called you his step-daughter. We sent gifts every holiday.”

“I never got any.”

Mattie's tone is distant. Carmilla clutches the bowl in her hands, looking down at her feet. “Maman probably intercepted them.”

“I thought-” she stops, takes a deep breath. “I thought you all hated me.”

Carmilla shakes her head vehemently. “No… we missed you.” A question comes to her head. “If you thought we hated you, why did you come for us?”

Mattie is affronted. “You're my siblings. We're family. I wasn't about to leave you to your _luck_.”

“Thank you.”

Clearing her throat, Mattie turns her face away. “Grab me the spoons, will you?”

She does so, but her head is somewhere else.

Carmilla remembers her father's downturned face at another Mattie-less Christmas; the gifts he got her, the silly cards, the extra seat on the table. It feels like so long ago; her father's rumbling voice, his kind hands, awful jokes. She will never understand why such a man fell for Lilith Morgan – and neither did him, probably, after a few years. He'd grown gaunt and silent, quietly suffering through his marriage for his children.

She imagines if he'd be proud of them now.

Carmilla waits until Mattie puts her guard down again, the moment she sees Betty, and says, “He was a lot like you.”

Mattie does not respond, and she doesn't expect her to.

The days pass without a hitch. Carmilla gets a lot of sweets from LaF and her dad – who scribbles his name besides LaF's on the card – and knitted socks and mittens from Perry. She'd sent LaF a new wizarding chess set and a book on Transfiguration; Perry gets a couple of pretty quills and a new backpack – hers had broken a few days before break, and she'd grown desolate.

Laura sends her a bound leather book and a fountain pen, with instructions on how to use it; in the enclosed letter, Laura rants about the ridiculousness that is using _quills in this century oh my God why are wizards like this?_ On the front page, Laura made some doodles of her and Tiberius, and wrote Carmilla's name in surprisingly beautiful calligraphy. Carmilla gave her a huge amount of sweets, a rainbow scarf, and socks with Nifflers on them – it pales in comparison to her own gift, but hey, she tried.

Mattie waits until they've all gushed about their gifts to each other to present them with hers. The trio sits together on the couch, Betty standing beside her partner. “We went to Maman's vault,” Mattie says, “While you were at Hogwarts. She had many strange artifacts in there, ones I'd rather not talk or think about, but in there we also found your father's things.”

They all hold their breath. Mattie continues, “He didn't have much by the way of gold. I believe Maman took most of it. But he left a couple of heirlooms. Ones you probably haven't seen, since she hid them quite well.”

She gives each of them a small parcel. Inside, there are magical rings; the kind that most pureblood families have and carry with them. They're pretty – silver lined with jade and with the crest of the Karnsteins on the top. But the second thing is what catches her attention.

It is a portrait. The picture is of the triplets when babies, being held by a beaming man. He has the three of them in his arms, as if they weigh nothing, and they all have big, child smiles, the kind they never had again. JP is him but younger, with round cheeks and fluffy hair; Will does look like him a little, too, but not as much as his brother. Carmilla looks nothing like him.

She does not cry like Jeep, nor grins like Will. She stays silent, tracing the image of them, up to the tall hours of the evening.

 

 

Carmilla decides to hang out with Laura after a class at Hagrid's hut. His smile is barely visible under his thorny beard, but he nevertheless seems pleased to see her. They sit with him by the fireplace, the girls sinking into huge throw pillows he fetches from a cupboard.

“I'm so excited for the unicorns,” Laura tells her, blowing on her tea. “They must be so pretty.”

“We're probably not going to see them.”

Hagrid nods. “They're skittish. We're looking for traces of 'em. Just makin' sure they're around.”

Laura sighs. “I knew it was too good to be true.” But then she perks up again. “Are they really golden when they're young?

“Yes, cupcake.”

“Holy Hufflepuff.”

Hagrid gives her a puzzled look then turns to Carmilla; she merely shrugs, as to say _I don't know either_. Before he can say anything, a knock comes to his door and he has to rise to answer it, hand on his back like an old man. She briefly wonders if it's age or an injury from war.

“Have you seen one?” Laura asks her.

“I wish. It's not that they're not friendly – especially the young – but they're reclusive by nature. I reckon all these centuries of hunting for pelt and such has gotten them a bit weary of us humans.”

“That's a shame.”

“Right? Father used to say-” she swallows, “He said they were like lightning, gone in a second.”

Hagrid is talking to someone at the door, a friend from the looks of it. Laura glances at him, over her shoulder, and then turns to Carmilla again. “You talk of him a lot. Do you miss him?”

Carmilla's mouth opens and closes like a fish. “How did-”

She smiles sadly. Suddenly, Carmilla realizes that, no matter how much she talks, Laura shares little. “You're not the only one who's lost someone.”

Laura seems to always bring out sincerity out of her. Carmilla doesn't yet know if that's a good or a bad thing. Instead of answering the question, Carmilla takes Laura's free hand in hers, grip light in case she refuses the contact. “Then you know.”

Laura squeezes her hand in return. “Yeah. Let's talk about cool things. How's Mattie?”

“She's somewhere in Egypt, I think. We're owed some pictures of her in a parasol. Betty promised she'll take them.”

“They're cute.”

“Don't tell my sister that. She hates that word.”

Laura nods, comically serious. “I wanna be on her good side. She is scary.”

“What? She isn't!”

“She's all tall and serious and wears those _heels_.”

“Mattie isn't _that_ serious.”

“But she _is_ tall,” she says victoriously.

“Well, yeah- but you're so tiny we must all look like giants.”

Hagrid, who is closing the door, lets out a loud guffaw. Laura looks between them and gives an affronted gasp. “We're basically the same height, Carmilla!”

“And yet...”

She continues to tease Laura all the way back to the castle. Laura tries to look mad, but a smile peeks out every now and then. When Carmilla picks up her backpack and holds it above her head, Laura giggles. “Carm, honestly-”

“ _Give it back._ ”

They both stop, startled, at the entrance. Danny Lawrence stands by the stairs, hands pressed into fists, glaring at Carmilla. Laura presses her palm to her chest, clearly taken aback, but her right hand still holds onto the bottom of Carmilla's shirt. Carmilla's face contorts into a sneer, her eyes rolling at the sight.

“Hello to you too,” she deadpans. “I'd expect you would've learned common manners by now.”

Laura pokes her side; Carmilla sighs and hands her the backpack. “Don't be mean.”

“Stay away from her,” Lawrence tells Laura, striding up to them. “Karnstein is bad news.”

“You give me far too much credit.”

Laura yanks her hand out of Lawrence's grip, face flushing. “Don't be ridiculous, Danny. Carmilla is my friend.”

“Don't think she's capable of any emotion other than disdain, Laura.”

Instead of replying, Laura scoffs, loudly; she takes Carmilla's hand and pulls her away. She strides out of the hall and up the stairs towards the library, quietly fuming. She follows Laura, quiet; worried. Worried that Laura might actually believe Lawrence. What has she done, truly, to disprove her?

Laura stops halfway across the corridor. She turns, cheeks red and puffed. Carmilla is momentarily distracted by how _cute_ she is.

Laura huffs. “Sorry for that.”

“I- I apologize for taking your bag.” Carmilla looks down at her shoes. “I wasn't actually taking it from you- I was going to give it back-”

Laura looks at her like she's grown two heads. “I know,” she says slowly, “I'm aware? I'm sorry for Danny- she's so _unfair_ to you. You've always been so polite to everyone and it's just because you're quiet and-”

“My mother was a Death Eater.”

A lull before, “So?” Laura shakes her head. “You shouldn't have to carry that with you. Your mom was a raging b- bad person-”

“A bitch.”

“- but you're _not_!”

Carmilla still doesn't look her in the eye; she's afraid she might cry or – worse – _believe_ her. “We don't know that. What if I am like her?”

Laura hugs her. Her arms go around Carmilla's waist snugly, her head under her chin. Her hair smells like wildflowers and that strange magical fabric softener the elves use. Carmilla's throat is tight as she tentatively wraps her arms loosely around Laura's neck.

“You're not,” she says, voice strong and sure. “You're _good_.”

She sucks in a shaking breath. “Laura...”

“This is not up to discussion. And I'm gonna have a talk with Danny.”

“You don't have to-”

“I don't care.”

 

 

Carmilla fiddles with her tie again, cursing under her breath. Bagheera had decided upon raining hell onto her trunk of clothes, and she'd barely rescued the tie from the mess. Sadly, her difficulty with Charms persists through the years; she's on her tenth try when she hears someone come by.

“Thought I might find you here,” Perry says. Her hair is tied high, red curls bouncing as she walks towards Carmilla. She spots the frayed tie on her hand and, with a quick shake of her wand, it mends itself perfectly. “Your cat again, I presume?”

“Yes,” she tells her, in that – now rare – sheepish tone she reserves to alone conversations with Perry. “He's tired of chasing classmates' rats, apparently.”

“I have a question, Carmilla,” she starts. It's a feat how she says Carmilla's name every time – no nicknames, no shortening of syllables; Perry enunciates her entire name _every single time_. “You don't have to answer it, however.”

“Good.”

Undeterred, she says: “Why do you mend your things?”

Carmilla frowns. “I- because they are broken?”

“It's just-” Perry shakes her head; she does that a lot, Carmilla has noticed, to put back ideas in their correct order. She thinks Perry's genius brain – which she will _never_ admit to thinking it is such – sometimes jumbles her words, and Perry never settles for anything but the correct order of things. It's endearing, in an exasperating kind of way. “I've met many wizards and witches – not only at Hogwarts, but at my family's parties – that have lived without caring about their money. You come from money – right? – and it has come to my attention that you live quite frugally.”

“I am both annoyed and impressed by your vocabulary, Perry, I have to say,” she chuckles– a quick, raspy sound that soon is overtaken by the wind. They stand on one of Hogwarts' many deserted hallways, one that has no windows; it leads to the NEWT-level greenhouses. The wind is their only company. “I suppose I haven't really thought of myself as someone rich.”

“But you _are_.”

“Well- yes.” She shifts in her feet. “You should have asked my brothers- they are better at talking.”

“I asked you.”

“Mother did not tell us. We had no way of knowing not everyone lived like us, either. As children, we only knew our mother's friends. It was only after her death that we learned of the outside world, through Mattie.”

“Did your mother not buy you new clothes?”

“If she saw us with anything she did not like, yes. But she was rarely at home, and we didn't want to disturb her when she was. Will learned how to sew from a caretaker – Mrs. Popps – and we stitched things back together. Usually the boys asked the elves to help, but I didn't want to bother them.”

“But you can buy new ties, now.”

She shrugs. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And I'd rather not waste money on things like this.”

“On yourself?”

Carmilla is, by now, unsettled and somewhat embarrassed. Perry has a way of understanding all of them so terribly well, and it always takes her off-guard. She forgets to not be genuine. “I- yes, I think.”

Perry takes two steps and stands next to Carmilla. She says nothing, and they both end up staring out of the ledges into the open garden and the lake. After a beat, Perry's gentle hands take her tie from her. “It's a bit short, isn't it?”

“I hit a growth spurt. I know you can't tell.”

Perry smiles. “During break, we should go buy you some. LaFontaine wants to get socks – something about being _edgy_? – and well, you've been off, so they'd like you to come too.”

Carmilla hugs herself. “I wouldn't want to bother either of you.”

“It is no bother if I am inviting you,” she says, folding the tie, like Betty used to do. “You don't have to be afraid of wanting things, Carmilla.” And she fixes a strangely knowing look on her. “Or wanting _people_.”

She feels the blush coming on, and hides it behind a scowl. “Has LaF been feeding you lies?”

“Don't be silly- LaFontaine didn't have to tell me. I see the way you look at Laura.”

She huffs. “I- I _don't_ look at Hollis. Not any differently than I look at any of you.”

“Listen to me, Carmilla,” she tells her, and waits until Carmilla's stubborn eyes find hers. “Your brothers are boys, and they are oblivious. LaFontaine teases you because they like a laugh. But I want you to know that I know; so that we may talk of it, if you want to. I know there are things in your past that you will probably never tell me, but I hope we may talk of them someday.”

“You go through an awful lot of trouble by keeping me around, Perry.”

“Nonsense,” she waves her hand. It shakes a little. “It's only that- well, I've never had many friends. LaFontaine can charm an Unspeakable, you know- but I'm not as great with people. I don't know why but- you've become my friend, despite how much I fuss and stress, and I just want you to know I- I appreciate it, yes?”

Carmilla smiles a little. “I haven't had many friends either, Perry.”

And that's perhaps the closest to a thank you she'll ever give.

 

 

So, the year ends.

They clamber onto the Hogwarts Express with a great deal of laughing and yawning, most of them in muggle clothing. The boys continue to become tall as trees, and Perry's height towers over both LaF and Carmilla; their feet all knock a little as they stretch in their seats.

LaFontaine settles opposite Carmilla on the window seats, Bagheera draped around their neck; they enter some sort of strange levitating contest with Jeep, wherein they try to get as many flavored beans to float as possible. Will curls next to Carmilla and falls fast asleep, his owl hooting disapprovingly from its perch. Perry rolls her eyes at the beans shenanigans and buries her nose in a heavy book about Charms that makes Carmilla yawn just by thinking of it.

Sooner rather than later, she ends up asleep like her brother. She wakes up after an hour or two, by someone knocking on the door. Behind the glass, she sees Laura Hollis' timid little smile reach them.

“Hollis!” LaF crows, emerging from the Bean Debacle. “How are you?”

“I'm alright,” she says. Will moves so she can sit between him and Carmilla; she gives the latter a pretty grin. “What's with the beans?”

They fill with importance. “Magical business.”

“They're being children,” Perry pipes up from behind her book. “As usual.”

“So serious and _grouchy._ You're turning into Kitty.”

“Fuck off,” Carmilla responds. “And you should all strive to be as great as me.”

“Kitty?”

Carmilla does not like the glint in Laura's eyes. “Don't even try. They just do it because they're _assholes_.”

“You wound me.”

“I could be an- an asshole!”

They all stare at Laura. She shrinks a little. “You're the bubbly and nice one,” Will tells her, as if imparting great wisdom. Jeep nods like a bobblehead in the background. “And Carmilla is the broody and mean one. You balance her out.”

This causes red to spread over Carmilla's face. She keeps the scowl, but both her siblings notice and smirk. Laura, however, grins as if she's earned the house-cup all by herself. “Aw, guys. But Carm isn't always mean.”

“I'm not brooding!” She protests. It falls onto deaf ears.

Ignoring her, LaF says, “Just for you, Laur. Just for you.”

They waggle their eyebrows at Carmilla – she promises herself to send one of those exploding dung bombs to them during break. Jeep takes pity on his red-faced sister and says, “You've lost the levitating tournament. Your words have no value here.”

LaFontaine gasps and feigns sadness. “How could this happen! My words are all I have!”

“Fuck the government. Blow shit up and revolt,” is Will's suggestion. They consider it. “Not in here. I'd rather not get another letter from Betty about my ' _wild and reckless behavior'_. Also, this is a new shirt.”

“Yes, because your _shirt_ is the most valuable thing in here.”

“I am the most valuable thing in here,” Carmilla says. “Fuck all of you guys.”

“You really are a Slytherin,” Laura laughs. Carmilla winks. “That's not gonna work.”

“Don't sic your girlfriend on her, Hollis,” Will pipes up. “Carmilla is tiny and fragile like a porcelain doll. And as smart as one, I think.”

LaF howls with laughter. “Holy shit, Will.” They stop a little and look at Laura, fake-serious. “That's true, though. Your girlfriend's inhuman height is a danger to short people everywhere.”

Laura blinks. “Who is my girlfriend?”

There is a pause. Perry bursts into giggles; they all look at her, bemused, and she waves them off. Carmilla feels some sort of painful sensation to her chest – like someone is squeezing it. “Danny Lawrence, buttercup.”

“Danny is _not_ my girlfriend!” Laura protests, louder than anticipated; her face has gone decidedly tomato-red. “Where did you get that from?”

“The looks she gives you-”

“- the opening of doors -”

“- following you like a lovesick puppy -”

“- it's textbook flirting to be frank -”

“- it's all quite gross if you ask me -”

“- I pity the house elves that have to mop up her drool -”

The triplets' words make Laura's eyes go wide; she looks around in semi-panic. It's both cute and amusing. “You think Danny-” her voice gets lower, “Danny likes me?”

“We know,” they all – including Perry – say. The latter continues, “Sweetheart, it was quite obvious.”

“Why do you think she hates seeing you with Carmilla?” LaFontaine tells her, “She gets jealous.”

“I _am_ terribly attractive,” Carmilla muses aloud.

“That's not the point, Carm,” Laura says, frowning. Carmilla blinks fast at that – does she _agree_? “The point is what I'm going to do with this information!”

“Date her?” LaFontaine shrugs. “Make little ginger Sasquatch babies? You should invest on some stairs, though- those enchanted ones you can keep on your pockets. Otherwise, Merlin knows how that'd work.”

Will continues, “Maybe some levitation charms, a good deal of tip-toeing. Not sure if it would be worth it- but hey, if rude, loud Gryffindors are your type...”

“Aren't those synonyms?” Carmilla adds, trying to shake off the inconvenient feelings creeping up.

“True.”

“Don't be mean,” Laura chides.

“I'm being honest.”

“I don't want to date her,” is Laura's final answer. She even huffs a little, like she is appalled by the very idea. Carmilla cannot blame her; there's probably no one good enough for Laura Hollis in this world. “She is my friend and that's that.”

“I'm surprised,” JP says, “Thought it would happen.”

Laura quiets down, stares out the window for a while. The others go back to their conversations, but Carmilla hangs by a little bit, waiting for something – she is not quite sure what.

“Maybe I do like Danny,” Laura whispers, when everyone's noise gets louder. “Maybe I should talk to her.” Then she looks at Carmilla, and completely misses the way Carmilla's entire body is silently crumpling in on itself. “Right?”

“Sure,” she says, mouth dry. “If that's what you want.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me what you thought!  
> (also come scream w me about the trailer on [tumblr](http://camphollstein.tumblr.com/) because holy shit that was a punch to the face. in a good way.)


	5. fifth year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i'm not kidding when i say this is kind of long. there are almost twelve thousand words. but! i stand by the idea that there is no such thing as too many words in a fanfic.
> 
> warning: mentions of torture, death, and both psychological and physical abuse.
> 
> thank you to matheus for reading this through for me. he's the best.

 

 

The noise of something hitting the window rings out during breakfast.

They all look up to see an incredibly small owl shake its head from the impact, a letter tied to its foot. It blinks smart eyes at the Karnsteins.

“Is that an owl or a rat with wings?” Matska drawls. She returns to her newspaper and coffee without a second glance at the creature. “Children, can you let it in, please?”

The boys look at each other and briskly jump out of their chairs, in some silly contest to reach the kitchen window first; Carmilla continues drinking her tea. With the noise of batting wings and scuffling teenage boys, the owl is finally let in, going straight for the built-in perch in their dinner table.

Betty is the one to take the letter, one hand still buttering her toast. The boys are still at the window, pushing each other as each claims to have won the race. “Boys, that's quite enough,” she says, not even looking at them. Carmilla smirks at them as they sit back down, pouting, “I believe this owl belongs to a friend of yours- a Lola Perry?”

The three perk up at the same time. Carmilla accepts the letter and opens it with her toast dangling from her mouth. JP tisks and takes it from her. “You'll get butter all over it.”

“What did Perry say?” Will asks impatiently.

Jeep skims the letter with both his siblings' eyes on him. “Apparently her vacation was canceled; she's going home to Scotland. She's asking if we want to spend the rest of the summer there. LaFontaine is going. And Laura might come too.”

Both of them turn smug smiles at Carmilla, whose face slips into pretend apathy. “Huh.”

“Can we go?” Will asks Mattie, nearly vibrating off his chair.

He shouldn't have asked Mattie, though. Their older sister just turns to Betty. “What do you think, darling?”

“I think it's a wondrous idea. You've barely left the house this summer.”

“Then it is decided. You may go if you want.”

Will hoots; the owl is startled out of cleaning its feathers and hoots back, eyes wide. Jeep goes to the living room to get parchment. Carmilla continues sitting and pretends she doesn't want to dance around the kitchen. Mattie eats her eggs, while her girlfriend just takes a bite of her breakfast, smiling beatifically.

So the Karnstein triplets find themselves sliding out of the Perry's chimney two days later. They're dressed very properly, in well-cut wizard robes with embroidery, their best shoes, and new bags for their clothes; Betty was so excited that they had  _friends_ that she packed their bags for them. Mattie was less enthusiastic, mentioning she did not know the Perrys: “If something happens and you are not comfortable staying there, come home at once”, was what she'd said as they parted.

It was perhaps the most maternal phrase they'd ever heard from her.

Carmilla is shaking off the dust from her shoulders when Perry – in an apron saying  _'What's up? Muffin much.'_ she bets is LaF's doing – comes in, a rag on her hand and flour on her hair. They stare at each other for a second, before Will lets out a guffaw. Perry blushes and shushes him, moving to hug them.

“I thought you weren't coming until two!” she says, hugging Jeep tightly. She moves onto Carmilla, who hugs her back loosely.

“It is two.”

“Oh,” Perry raises her wrist to her own forehead, “I must've forgotten the time!”

“It's quite alright,” Jeep says, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Are you baking?”

“Yes! LaFontaine is helping-” her face shifts to horror, “LaFontaine is helping.”

She runs back to where they suppose is the kitchen; sharing amused looks, the Karnsteins follow her.

The living room is average-sized; there are a couple of couches with knitted throw covers, some muggle lamps, a colorful rug. The kitchen is also terribly domestic, brown and white with pretty stone counter tops, a wood stove, and a normal stove. There is a table off to the side, which is covered in trays of cookies.

LaFontaine is laughing as they enter, presenting not-burnt cookies to a relieved Perry. They look up and give them a brilliant grin; the one only LaF can do. It's a mix of mischievous and genuine, like they're apologizing for a prank they haven't done yet.

“Hey, weirdos,” LaF says, pointing to their robes, “Why are you all fancy-like?”

“We're trying to make a good impression.” Jeep frowns. “It is important to Matska and Betty.”

Perry hums and takes the cookies to the table. Carmilla has never seen her so relaxed before. “Well, my mom should be here soon, so you can give her the Karnstein charm then.”

“What charm?”

At Will's question, another head pops out a door. Carmilla feels a strange tightening of her chest; it's Laura, with pretty wildflowers braided into her hair, wearing muggle clothing. She looks unfairly dazzling in a simple, loose white T-shirt and jeans; her wrists have some colorful bracelets of woven fabric that look handmade.

“The Karnstein charm is real,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You wouldn't believe how much people talk about you three on the other houses.”

Carmilla focuses on that last part, and not on the way her stomach feels. “Do you gush about us too, 'Puff?”

Laura's cheeks turn a pretty pink as she laughs, crossing the room. “Shut up,” she says, reaching to hug Carmilla by the waist, “Only about Jeep.”

She feigns offense at that, while Jeep crows, delighted. “I  _am_ the cutest.”

Laura giggles. “Sorry, Will.”

Will shakes his head. “I feel betrayed and hurt.”

Carmilla takes the opportunity to sneak up behind Perry and steal a cookie. “Don't eat them all yet!” Perry says, slapping her hand away; she still manages to get one. She bites into it and leans against the counter, with LaF giving her a thumbs up. “Don't encourage her.”

“Sorry.” LaF looks at Carmilla's cat cage and at Bagheera's sleeping form. “Don't you wanna let him out?”

Perry, instead of saying anything, just takes the carry-on from her. Bagheera halfheartedly opens his eyes to check; he sees Perry's shock of bright hair and yawns. “I'll put him upstairs- come! We should drop off your bags.”

The house is actually quite spacious. There are two floors, both of them sporting the same floral patterns as the living room. Perry informs them that the boys will be sharing a room, while LaF and Carmilla will take the other. As they come back down, Perry tells her, quietly and teasingly, she thinks it would be too much for Carmilla to share with Laura.

Carmilla purses her lips. “I don't know whether to thank you or be mad.”

“Laura sleeps in shorts.”

“Thank you.”

They return to the kitchen. Laura has a cookie on her hand, and waves it around as she tells some story to LaF. And it's unfair, how the sun seems to always be highlighting her, like it has some kind of duty to her figure.

Perry's mom arrives shortly after. She enters the living room, where they've all assorted, with a large bag on her left hand, and a bouquet of flowers on her right hand. “Hello,” she says with an airy voice. It's just as posh as Carmilla imagined. “Let me drop this off before introductions can be made.”

The three Karnsteins get up, forming a line with Will as the first. Were she not strangely nervous, she'd realize how funny they look, back rigid with the formality drilled into them as children, in expensive wizard robes, and all of them considerably taller than the minute lady before them.

“Thank you for welcoming us, Ms. Perry.” Will says. Behind Ms. Perry, LaFontaine's eyebrows go so far up they disappear behind their hairline at his proper tone.

Ms. Perry seems amused at the three gangly teenagers – which does cause Carmilla's face to look a little sour because of embarrassment – but accepts their thanks with grace. She carries herself much like some of Maman's nicer friends had, before the war, and now she understands where Perry gets it from.

After they introduce themselves, Ms. Perry goes to the kitchen for her daughter's cookies; she briefly pats Laura's head and pinches LaF's cheek at passing. They smile as if it is a common occurrence. When she leaves their sight, Jeep's shoulders go up to his ears and he whispers at Carmilla, “Do you think she likes us?”

Carmilla responds with a lost look. “I don't know.”

She sits back down next to Laura; the girl tugs on her sleeve. “Why are you guys always so tense?” she asks.

“I'm never tense.” Carmilla deadpans.

“Only when meeting people's parents?”

“Don't make fun of me, Hollis. I can tell Ms. Perry many stories of you-”

“I'm not making fun of you,” she says, her claim negated by the crooked smile on her face. “I'm only asking.”

Carmilla doesn't answer for a while; Laura seems to have gotten used to her strange silences, for she simply worries the fabric of Carmilla's robes. Her fingers brush against Carmilla's wrists every now and then, sending sparks up her arm that are both alarming and calming. “Parents are... scary.”

Laura nods. “That is true.”

“Who ate all the cookies?” Jeep asks from the kitchen.

“Probably Laura,” LaFontaine replies. Jeep groans and Ms. Perry laughs. “I'm not making any more of them.”

“Where does all that sugar even go?” Will asks Laura.

Laura seems to understand the implications of replying to such a statement – and facing Perry's Disappointed Mother Face – so she puckers her lips shut. “Being cute won't let you off the hook, 'Puff,” Carmilla whispers at her ear. Laura's cheeks turn pink but she remains steadfastly silent. “You better fess up...”

“Shush,” she garbles. Carmilla smiles at her; Laura looks at her oddly and she stops, face retreating into practiced neutrality. “Wait,” she tries again, her hand slipping to grasp Carmilla's hand. “I- sorry. It's only that you don't smile often and... it's pretty.”

Outside, she blinks; inside, Carmilla's stomach is invaded by a cavalcade of drunk centaurs. “Smooth,” she says, because teasing her seems like the best option. “Do you tell all pretty girls that?”

Laura rolls her eyes and knocks their shoulders gently. “Yeah. You know me.”

“Speaking of which...”

“Nope. I know what you're gonna ask.”

“Do you, now?” She drawls.

“Yeah. I'm not talking about it.”

Then, yeah. She knows what the answer is. Her good mood crashes down; Laura and Lawrence should make each other happy, right? They make sense. Carmilla is stupid to think she ever had a chance.

“That's alright,” she tells her with a convincing smirk, “Don't need the details of your torrid love affair.”

Before Laura can answer, Carmilla gets up, hand falling from the 'Puff's grasp, and offers Perry help in carrying her mother's bag.

 

 

 

They go to a muggle clothing store.

According to Perry, it isn't as fancy as the triplets might be used to; but, to a bunch of cloistered wizards who'd just found out about  _microwaves_ , the place is a goddamn  _temple_ . The moving stairs and funny money were awfully confusing, so it takes Perry's never-ending patience to help them, but damn if they're not having the time of their lives.

Ms. Perry – who insists they call her Imogen, but they probably will never – takes them there. Perry is one of the unusual teenagers that do not hate their parents, so Ms. Perry ends up milling about with the over-excited bunch, occasionally pointing out things they should get.

LaFontaine – whose eyes are getting sharper and sharper with time – notices the strange detached air Carmilla exudes when next to Laura, and decides to take her and Will under their wing. They end up on the men's section, far from the others.

“Your clothes are okay,” they say, thumbing through some cheap fabric tees, “But- let's try to find you two a style that isn't ' _my mom picked these out for me_ '.”

“Wow, thanks for that, LaF. You know how to hit 'em where it hurts,” Will grumbles. “We don't know what muggles wear.”

“No kidding.”

The bickering between Will and LaF is to be expected, and honestly she's really over it, so she just wanders off. They catch up with her, still mumbling a little, but finally focused on a task. They do end up finding things that LaF approves, and they return to where the others are in record time.

The other group, however, is still at the same place, talking over each other about jewelry or something. LaF's disinterest mirrors her own; that is, until she spots the girl next to them.

“Hey,” Carmilla says, walking up to Perry. The girl next to her looks up too, short blond hair bobbing a little at the motion. Perry drags her eyes from the necklace displays to greet her. “Are you guys just about done? I think LaF and Will might go on a killing spree soon.”

Perry huffs. “Impatient as usual,” she sighs. Then, turning to the stranger, says, “Carmilla, this is Elle. We grew up together.”

Carmilla extends her hand; the girl's pale complexion sports a satisfying blush when she kisses it. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

Elle smiles at her. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope?”

“Of course.”

Her attention gets diverted when Jeep finally gets fed up. “Perry, dearest,” he says, his right eye twitching a little, “what seems to be the issue?”

Perry sighs, looking at the display. “I just can't decide-”

“Between which?”

She points to three necklaces. With a quick glance to his amused siblings, JP hums. “Get all of them. I'll pay.”

Both Perry and her mother open their mouths, but he does not budge. To Will's eternal relief and gratitude – his words, not hers – they move to the cashier, Elle walking with them. Laura hangs a bit behind, but Carmilla tries to put that off her mind, flirting shamelessly with Elle, who seems to be into it.

(She briefly entertains the idea of buying Laura the sweater she'd been looking at, but squashes the notion right quick.)

 

 

A breeze comes through the half-closed window in the living room. There's nary a sound from the suburbia, besides the occasional hoot from their owls. In her lap, Bagheera purrs, nose tucked under her wrist.

“Can't sleep?”

She startles a little and does not relax as Ms. Perry sits on the chair to her right. Ms. Perry's posture is even better than her daughter's; she carries herself with an air of effortless elegance that even Mattie would be jealous of. It's not her straight back that Carmilla is worried about, though.

“No.” Carmilla replies, softly as if to not jolt Bagheera out of his sleep again.

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Ms. Perry watches the world outside for a bit. “You know that fog outside?” Carmilla stays silent, because she feels like it's not a question. “When the war happened, I worked nights. Lola was young, and I wasn't aware of most conflicts on the wizarding world- it didn't matter to me yet. It wasn't until a couple of weeks after the fall of the Ministry that I got a letter from Lola's father. And I remembered the fog could mean Dementors.”

She stops, looks at Carmilla without a glint in her eye. “Lola doesn't talk much about him, does she?”

“She's never mentioned him.”

“He's an Unspeakable. He disappears for months, years, to come back now and then. I imagine Lola thinks of him more like a distant uncle, at this stage. But, well, he warned me of the state the world was in. A lot of things started making sense- falling bridges, destroyed houses, kidnappings. All of a sudden, I became fearful of my own lack of magic. Thankfully, Lola's grandfather visited, now and then. I reached out to his family a lot more, after that.”

“I'm sorry.”

Ms. Perry's perfect eyebrows knit together, as she once again turns her attention at Carmilla. She looks at her with a strangely maternal look, like one uses with small children, or simply young, defenseless things. Her back is taut, as if she's preparing herself for something. “Why are you sorry?”

She does not meet Ms. Perry's eyes; instead, she looks at the stairs, thinking of Laura's frame tucked into her comforter. “I assume Perry has told you of my mother.”

“Yes, she has.” Ms. Perry's tone turns soft, and it hurts Carmilla enough to bring tears to her eyes. Maman had never spoken to her with gentleness. “She's told me your mother was a purist, a Death Eater. But she's also spoken highly of your sense of kinship, and of how it was the three of you that made her feel welcome at Hogwarts.”

Carmilla blinks; a tear does fall. Ms. Perry doesn't comment on it. “Oh.”

“She was worried that people wouldn't be okay with her being 'uptight',” Ms. Perry says, rolling her eyes; she temporarily bears a strange resemblance to LaFontaine. “Though I said most would be delighted to meet her at all.”

“She just cares a lot.”

Ms. Perry is visibly pleased by Carmilla's shy answer, but does not continue that subject. A car honks in the distance and Bagheera wakes for a split second, before curling up again. “You carry many things with you, Carmilla.”

At a loss, Carmilla hangs her head a little. “I suppose.”

“You're a lot like Lola, in some ways,” she continues. “I've gathered as much from her letters. She says you do not trust easily- neither does she. But there is something to be learned from you having trusted each other. You know, Lola was the one most afraid of the both of us during the war- not for herself, but for me.”

Carmilla's throat tightens; she does not know what to say. “I didn't know how it was during it for people without magic.”

Ms. Perry relaxes on her seat, like she's talked of this many times. “If you weren't aware of the real culprits, you weren't terribly scared. They all seemed like disconnected events. But when I knew- well, the shadows became enemies. I did not know who to trust. They could come for both me and my child- Lola is a muggleborn, after all. But I believed in my ex-husband's words, and he believed in The Boy Who Lived. Though, to me, it seemed far too big a burden for a child.”

“The world was unkind to him.”

“The world has been unkind to most of us, too.”

 

 

Over the next few days, Elle comes up to the house more and more often. It's her last summer at home, she tells them, for she'll be going to live with her mother in Germany in a few weeks. She wanted to spend time with Perry for a while; and, by association, the rest of them.

LaFontaine always gives her thumbs up when they find her and Elle talking, and the boys are equally excited – though quieter about it – and even Perry seems amused by the whole idea of it. She doesn't quite know what Laura thinks, mostly because she cannot look at her without feeling as if claws are piercing her lungs.

So she doesn't stick around when most of them go to bed, doesn't look at Laura's honey eyes under the lamplight, and doesn't watch her across the room while she laughs with LaF. Instead, she kisses Elle by the fold-up tables in Perry's garden; it is easy and uncomplicated.

 

(Wrong, too.)

 

 

They get their Hogwarts letters during breakfast, the day after Elle leaves. LaFontaine sees the owls first, dropping their food in favor of pointing wildly; their hand hits Carmilla's face by accident. “Fucking hell,” Carmilla grunts, waving off LaF's apologetic look, “Calm down.”

But of course LaF joins Will and Jeep on their fruitless quest to be the first to touch a piece of parchment, even though they will all end up opening theirs at the same time. Instead of LaFontaine, though, Laura plops down on the seat beside her. Glancing at her, Carmilla can see her half-opened eyes, that slide across the room at the window, then back at the coffee pot.

Carmilla can be petty, mean, and frankly unpleasant, but she cannot pretend Laura's curled-in posture doesn't feel innately wrong. So she sighs, gets a free cup and pours Laura coffee. “Morning.”

Laura is actually startled by that- she looks at her with a small frown. “Hey.”

Carmilla dumps the crazy amount of sugar Laura likes into the mug and offers it, as a man of faith would present their libations. Keeping herself far from her has proven to be physically painful and useless. Her affection for her has not lessened at all, and she doubts it ever will.

“You should eat too,” she says, while the trio at the window starts sorting the letters out. “Before Will gets his grubby hands on everything.”

“I'm not dating Danny.” Laura rushes out, before reaching for her letter.

Air rushes out of Carmilla; her brother has to throw an envelope at her to get her attention. She breaks the wax seal with shaking fingers. “Oh,” she says dumbly, stammering for an excuse for her behavior, “I'm sorry.”

Laura smiles at her and returns to her parchments; it's like the world has righted itself back again. “Prepare for the yelling,” Laura murmurs, and Carmilla is confused. “Five, four, three, two-”

“I got Prefect!” Perry screeches. The noise does more to surprise them than the fact itself; Jeep has even fallen off his chair. Perry doesn't even look at him, lost in the glory of a small metal pin. “Prefect!”

“I did too!” Jeep yells. He jumps up and down while Perry holds the badge up to the ceiling, like she's trying to offer it to the spirits of prefects past.

Carmilla and LaF are equally red from laughter; Laura is congratulating them, while Will sneakily steals her bagel. “Who's the new Quidditch captain?” he asks Carmilla.

“Open your own letter and find out,” she wheezes; he pouts. “It's Adonis- you're laughing too, Hollis!”

Laura bites her lip to pretend she wasn't. “She's just  _excited_ .”

“You're too nice for your own good, you know,” she tells her, calming down. Perry and Jeep still look like they've been invited to dine with the Queen. “Giggle a little, come on.”

Ms. Perry comes down to see what's going on, and ends up congratulating her over-excited daughter repeatedly. LaFontaine gives both Perry and Jeep a tight hug, saying, “Please don't give me detentions,” to which Perry does not reply. Jeep just high-fives them.

“Don't give your siblings detentions either,” Will tells Jeep. He shakes his head.

“I'm giving both of you a detention as a punishment for the time you threw me in our fountain-”

“That's unethical,” Carmilla replies with a straight face; Will gasps, raising his hand to his chest.

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.”

“Perry, tell him he can't do that.”

Perry moves her Mom Look to JP; he pouts. “Fiiiiiine.”

“You'll never give me detention,” Carmilla tells him, patting his back as he sits back down, “Let's be honest.”

“Why, because you'll never do anything wrong?” Jeep says, sardonic.

“Nah. You'll just never catch me.”

 

 

Her DADA class goes as smoothly as she expected.

Which is to say: not at all.

First of all, Walsh seats her beside Wilson Kirsch, of all people. Second of all, Danny Lawrence sits on the table to his right, and spends the entirety of the class glaring straight at Carmilla. And third, Walsh gives her the exact same speech about the OWLs as the rest of the professors have too.

“Why is it,” Carmilla complains as she and Laura descend to Hagrid's hut, “That we're forced to decide what we want to do forever when we're this young? Hasn't the absurdity of it all ever occurred to the pointy-hatted imbeciles at the Wizarding Examinations Authority?”

“We're angry this morning.”

“Hollis.”

“It does seem iffy- though I've known what I want to do for a while.”

Carmilla hums. “A treasure hunter.”

“No.”

“A dragon slayer.”

“Nope.”

“A seer.”

“God, no.”

“You've got me at a loss, truly. I have no idea.”

They side-step some third-years trying to get up the pass; one of them stares a little too long at Laura's legs, until Carmilla's glare wards him off. Laura remains oblivious, taking Carmilla's hand in hers. “It's cold,” is her explanation, pressing both her freezing palms against Carmilla's gloved one. She blames her resulting blush on the weather. “I actually want to be a journalist.”

“Oh.” Carmilla toys with the information a little. “That makes a lot of sense, 'Puff. I reckon you wouldn't be half-bad at it.”

“I think that's the closest to a compliment that I'm getting.”

She refrains from saying she's got fifteen of them swimming through her mind that go from  _you're smart and dedicated_ to  _your eyes look like liquid gold during the sunset_ . Instead, she holds Laura's hands on both of hers and laughs.

“Do you know what you're going to do?” Laura asks, when they reach Hagrid's garden. It's a casual question, but to Carmilla it hits like a ton of bricks.

“I don't know,” she tells her, as if fear hasn't suddenly sparked within her. “Maybe I should be the Minister for Magic.”

“I think you'd be a wonderful Minister,” Laura imitates Ms. Perry's somewhat pompous tone, and Carmilla snorts ungracefully. “Quite, yes.”

Carmilla squeezes her hands a little. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why aren't you dating Danny?”

Laura's face goes from smiling to serious; she frees one of her hands, messes with her coat buttons. “I- well.”

“You don't have to answer.”

Laura laughs a little, a dry, tired laugh that Carmilla's never heard before. “I know. It's weird. I know it'd make sense, and everyone says it'd make sense. But I didn't feel that way, you know?”

She kind of doesn't, but nods. “Yeah.”

They both watch as Hagrid unloads boxes – that must weigh as much as Carmilla does – with ease. “I asked my dad about it. He helped.” She kicks at the ground. “I guess that- love doesn't work like that. It's not because two people seem perfect for each other that they're gonna fall in love.”

“Are you okay with that?”

A small smile lifts the corner of Laura's mouth; she squeezes Carmilla's hand once more, before dropping it. “I am, actually.”

Carmilla stuffs her hands in her pockets. “That's what matters, anyway.”

“I think you're just glad you won't have to hang out with Danny and I.”

Carmilla fake-gags. “She's been looking at me like I'm a garden gnome she's found inside her boots. I don't know why. Maybe jealous of my great marks.”

Hagrid spots them before Laura answers; Carmilla – who really wants to keep this small bundle of warmth she's gained from that conversation, but also kind of missed their teacher – walks forward to greet him. He's got his typical half-hidden smile on, and instead of clapping her on the back, he hugs her.

“How're yeh?” Hagrid asks, pulling Laura in too. “Good summer?”

“Really great- how was yours?”

“Good, good.” He claps his hands, a child in a giant's body. “Ready?”

 

 

She turns back into the hallway after spotting “The Giant Wars” on Binns' blackboard.

Perry tuts and puts both her hands on Carmilla's shoulders, pushing her forward. She huffs, crossing her arms; Perry and Jeep push her into a chair. Laura sits next to her, still humming some muggle song under her breath.

Carmilla puts her backpack on the table and buries her face in it. “How are you so happy in the morning?”

“I'm not,” Laura says, amused. “But no one hates them more than you.”

“That is true.”

“It's not that bad.”

Carmilla turns her face so she can glare at her. Laura grins; she reaches over to run her hand through Carmilla's dark hair. “It is that bad,” she says, but it comes out mumbled as Laura plays with it. “I'm gonna fall asleep.”

Sadly, Laura takes that as her cue to stop; she takes out a muggle notebook and a pen. “You should take notes too,” she says, not unkindly like Perry would. “The OWLs are important.”

“No.”

“It's not just because you're brilliant at some subjects that you shouldn't pay attention to all classes.”

Carmilla reaches over to pat Laura's hand. “You're getting progressively cuter about this, cupcake, but I'm still not taking notes.”

Laura's cheeks bloom a brilliant shade of red. “Don't make fun of me,” she huffs, like she's about to start on a rant. “This is-”

“Okay, fine,” Carmilla sits up, disgruntled and somewhat annoyed; but she's been on the receiving end of Laura's exasperation enough times to know when to quit. “I'm up.”

She does not take notes and spends most of the time doodling on her parchment, but it's enough for Laura and Perry. Carmilla will live to see another day.

Her parchment is covered with small drawings by the time the class ends. Laura finally looks over, packing up her things; she promptly giggles at her sketch of Binns being pelted by bludgers shaped like Will's face. She shakes her head and waits for him to wake up – he does, grumbling about Perry's high voice – so they file out of the room.

“Um, 'Puff,” Carmilla looks over her shoulder. “I think someone wants to talk to you.”

Laura turns around; Lawrence is standing at the corner, arms crossed and looking at them. It's not her usual glare that she reserves for Carmilla, but one of controlled emotion; she doesn't know what's going through Lawrence's mind. But her eyes are solely on Laura. “What-” she says. Laura looks at Carmilla quickly. “See you at lunch?”

“Count on it.”

Laura goes off to meet with Lawrence and Carmilla walks to Potions with her brothers. It's a great thing, sometimes, to have siblings. They push and shove each other, laughing about something or other, simply because they know Carmilla doesn't want to talk about what's up with her.

“You know- Puddlemere's got some good chances this year,” Jeep says; she spots LaFontaine coming down the stairs. “Their new roster is great for shifting the defense-”

“You're not winning, though.” Will tells him; just to fuck with JP, Carmilla's sure.

“Why not?”

“You're just not winning.”

“Who's not winning?” LaF pipes up.

“Puddlemere.”

“Okay, where are your stats coming from-”

LaFontaine interrupts Jeep's probably quite logical and impassioned rebuttal with, “Like you're winning fuckall! The Cannons have been at the back for years-”

“Hold up-”

“\- y'all are worse than Perry playing blindfolded!”

“\- we got a new Chaser!”

“He's gonna've to make miracles.”

Carmilla nods at LaF's words. “They're right. You need a whole new  _team_ . You know, I'd respect you more if you went for the  _Catapults_ .”

“Don't hate on my team! The Harpies-”

“Are topping the table.”

“You don't gotta be so smug about it.” LaFontaine sulking never fails to amuse her; LaF's frown deepens when faced with Carmilla's smirk. “Asshole.”

The duo hangs back at the end of the room, the brothers sitting on the table in front of them. It's a habit they've grown used to. Carmilla hates the attention and LaF wants to toy around with their potions more often than not. Therefore, staying out of Professor Clark's radar is a good idea.

She starts laughing – or as close as Carmilla gets in public – when LaFontaine starts setting up. “ _Another_ cauldron, LaF? I thought you were joking.”

“I never joke about science,” they say, making a pose over their new, shiny-looking brass cauldron. “It is my life.”

“Throwing random ingredients into a melting pot and stirring maniacally is science?”

“Don't undermine my geniality.”

“That's the wrong word.”

They freeze. “Yeah, it is.” They shrug. “I never claimed to be a wordsmith.”

 

 

Over the past years, the atmosphere at the Great Hall has changed. Before, they all sat at their own tables, rarely communicating with anyone outside, and stayed on their seats for most of meals. Somewhere along the line, though, people started spending time at others' tables, walking around with their plates and floating cups. Once, they'd been the strange Slytherins in a sea of Hufflepuffs, now they're just another group of friends.

They're always a bit louder than the others, though. “Did anyone get the third squiggly line of Clark's instructions?” Will yells across the table, fumbling to get something from his bag.

Jeep sighs. “We can hear you. I didn't copy them.”

Carmilla cocks her head to the side. “There were instructions?”

“It was Strengthening Solution,” LaF responds. They've got their thickly bound notebook out; it's filled with class notes and ideas. Carmilla has spotted some corrections to the textbook inside, which is another reminder that she's surrounded by geniuses. “For the OWLs. It's a moderate to advanced potion, with salamander blood and-”

“LaFontaine,” Perry breathes out, fork halfway to her mouth. “Do you mind? I'm eating.”

Will writes it down in a random scrap of paper. “Your stomach is safe, Ms. Perry.” Then he turns eyes to his sister, “Stop looking around like a kicked puppy. Hollis' gonna show up at some point.”

She doesn't deign that with a response.

She's not thinking about the whole Laura/Danny debacle, at  _all_ . Laura has clearly made up her mind about it, and if there's one thing she's learned about the tiny Hufflepuff, is that she is  _stubborn_ . But – and if anyone asks she'll deny it to her deathbed – she worries about the repercussions of the whole thing. She doesn't necessarily care for Lawrence, at all really, but Laura and Perry do; she feels as if she's bound to Lawrence, one way or another.

Even if Laura doesn't sit with them today.

“It's official,” LaFontaine declares, taking her back to Earth. They look at her as if it's her fault, as they're prone to do. To be fair, it often is. “I'm awful at Defense and I'm gonna eat it this year.”

“I mean...”

“Don't finish that sentence.”

“What's the matter, Keeps?”

“I can never remember the motion for the Stunning Spell and that one curse that makes things turn to dust? It's nonsense. What's wrong with having a simple formula?”

“It is a formula,” Carmilla huffs. “The motion directs the magic energy and the words help you shape it. The gesture is really the most important part, yeah. That's why we can do non-verbal spells.”

“If I can't do them when I enunciate, how in the name of Merlin's green thigh-highs am I gonna-?”

“You won't,” she tells them, grinning. “You're gonna stand there looking constipated. Your examiner is going to piss their pants laughing.”

They scowl. “You're such a dick.”

Carmilla makes a disgusted noise. “I don't want to be associated with dicks in any way, shape, or form. Call me anything else.”

“Only if you help me with these dumb spells.”

“Oh- come on.”

“I'll buy you a butterbeer.”

Carmilla extends her hand; they shake on it, off-puttingly serious. “Done.”

“What's done?”

Laura slides into the seat next to her. Perry moves automatically to put food on Laura's plate. Something's up, though, because Laura lets her put _peas_ in her plate. Carmilla is pretty sure she recalls a conversation where Laura claimed them to be The Green Beans of Great Evil.

LaFontaine clears their throat. “Kitty here is going to help me pass my OWLs.”

It's her turn to scowl. “Don't call me that.”

“You said I could call you _anything_ else.”

Her scowl deepens. LaFontaine grins. “ _Damn it_ . You should be a lawyer.”

“Nah. I'd like to do _some_ good to the world.”

Will pipes up, “My sister is a lawyer.”

LaFontaine covers their mouth. “Don't tell her I said that.”

Laura does not speak for most of lunch; they leave the table just in time for their Charms class. LaFontaine cheerily waves them off for their free period, and they trudge up to the classroom. Perry is equally as concerned as Carmilla, but she doesn't push.

Somewhere on the third flight of stairs, Laura tugs on Perry's sleeve. Carmilla nods at Perry and walks faster to catch up with her siblings.

 

 

She stays back after Quidditch practice. It's one of those strange days where Hogwarts is caught under a downpour, freezing water cloaking her and sinking into her skin. But it feels cleansing, like she's purging something from within herself.

Logically, she knows the darkness isn't going away because of a few drips of water, but, hey. Respite is nice.

Carmilla sits on the side of the oval-shaped field, against a wooden wall. The rain has begun turning the floor into sloshing mud and ice-cold murky water. It's good, makes her feel unimportant. If set free, Nature could tear all of Hogwarts apart, rip off the newly reconstructed towers and turn them all back into rubble. But it doesn't.

She finds some comfort in the fact that it isn't for some noble reason or other. Nature simply tends to equilibrium, and, for the time being, it allows their school to stay. She wonders, though, if Nature does the same for her, and lets her remain in its earth, despite what she's done, because it wants her to seek balance for her deeds.

Mother surely cannot atone for them, and, besides, didn't she say it was Carmilla's fault? She remembers her sickly-sweet tone, the cold digits against her face: “ _It pains me to do this, darling girl, but you must learn your lesson_ ”. Did she really? She tried to do the right thing – the good thing, what her father would've done – and look where that put her.

Her fingernails are purple, her teeth chattering. Carmilla watches the storm overhead with unwarranted tranquility. The skies will not end her today, and that's enough.

After a few minutes, she stands up and gets her broom. Carmilla enters the changing room, her steps loud in the stone floor. She's not alone, though; both JP and Will sit by the entrance, a chess set between them.

JP nudges his bishop forward, briefly looking up at her. “Shower before you get a cold. We can talk after.”

She nods, and does as she's told. When she comes back, Carmilla sits between her brothers.

It's up to her to break the silence. “You cannot tell Matska or Elizabeth. Not a word of this.”

“Are you sure?” Will whispers.

“I don't want this hanging over their heads. They've got enough to worry about.”

“Kitty-”

“Promise me.”

They nod.

Carmilla holds Jeep's hand tightly, trying to keep herself tethered.

“Remember that ball Maman threw? Where they put up a tent next to the pond?” Her brothers nod. She exhales forcefully. “Maman said I was sick, so I couldn't come. I wasn't. I woke up during the night before. I had a nightmare, so I looked for Dasper. He made us hot chocolate, then, remember? The kitchen was empty, though, so I went around to the pantry to check if everything was alright.”

She tells them. She tells them of walking down the stairs of the hidden trapdoor. Tells them of finding Vordenberg, sipping tea as if nothing was wrong, while one of their elves hung from the ceiling, and another floated over their heads. How she was crying for him to let them go, and how Vordenberg laughed at her face. How he'd said he was bored and Lilith had told him to feel at home, and how he dropped the floating elf on their head, skull making noise on the stone floor, and how they hadn't gotten up.

Maman's rage when Vordenberg told her Carmilla had freed Dasper, giving him her nightcap. And stops talking, when they realize her action had a cost.

“I wasn't sick,” she whispers, looks down. “It was my fault.”

JP launches himself at her. He's so tall and strong these days, she forgets he used to jump into her bed when they were kids. He doesn't say anything; she realizes he's crying, shoulders shaking. Will pulls both of them into his arms, Carmilla sandwiched between both twins. “It wasn't your fault,” he barks, as if daring the world to contradict his words. “It wasn't your fault, Carmilla.”

“What did she do?” Jeep sobs into her shoulder.

“Cruciatus, _”_ she says, and he trembles in her arms. “Not for long.”

“Goddamn it!”

Will hits the chessboard with his fist, breaking it in half. All three of them must be crying, by now. “I'm sorry,” she mumbles into his shirt. “I'm sorry. I-”

“Don't apologize,” is what JP says. “You didn't do anything.”

 

 

If anyone notices how strange the Karnstein siblings have been acting, no one says anything. The boys are always around her; tall enough to look like bodyguards, they walk with her to most classes in silence. When they're with the group, there's always someone with an arm around Carmilla or a hand on hers, like they used to do when they were kids.

Carmilla knows how she looks like: tired, fragile. It's not perceptible to most, she thinks, but in her friends' eye it must be glaring.

After a week, LaFontaine gets her alone after an Ancient Runes class. They've got a creased, deep frown on their face; it doesn't become them. “Hey, K,” they greet her. “You got a sec?”

They walk towards the grounds; it's an overcast day, with biting wind. LaFontaine grips her wrist as they wander about. “Sorry I've been weird.”

LaFontaine waves off her quiet words. “It's alright. I'm worried, that's all. You're better?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. Have the boys told you?”

They purse their lips guiltily. “No specifics.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.”

She's surprised by LaFontaine giving her a hug. They're pretty great at it, she'll admit; LaFontaine never half-asses anything. “I know you don't like to talk,” they tell her. “But I'm here anyway.”

“Does Perry know?”

LaFontaine waits a second to let her go. Their eyes, permanently darting around, are unusually dulled. She recognizes it as tears, before LaFontaine turns their head to look at the lake. “I think they're telling Perry and Laura right now.”

She frowns, sighs. “I wouldn't have the nerve to tell them anyway.”

LaF pulls on her wrist. “You're a good person, Karnstein.”

“I'm not sure about that. Thank you, though.”

“Anytime.”

They stand there for a few more moments. On the distance, the Giant Squid raises one of its tentacles through the water, waving at passerby. LaFontaine waits until it submerges to speak again. “We should get inside. I hear there's hot chocolate for desert.”

There is hot chocolate. She sits next to LaF on the Hufflepuff table, and finishes her plate for the first time since she spoke up.

 

 

The last game before Christmas is against Ravenclaw.

Despite her bravado and the bet she struck with LaFontaine, Carmilla is not confident. Aside from her, Will, and Adonis, their team is a bunch of fourteen year-olds with skinny knees and that classic look of growing teens. So far, they'd lost to Hufflepuff – with a few points' difference – and had only won against Gryffindor because of Adonis' flying.

When their game starts, it isn't too bad. Will gets a couple of goals in, she hits a few knuckleheads, it's all good. But then- well. Their keeper fumbles the quaffle, the other beater almost gets Adonis' head; it becomes a shit show, and she knows it's over.

She gives up on the useless Chasers they've gotten, tells Will to hold onto the Quaffle for as long as possible, and starts guarding Adonis so they'll lose less spectacularly. But it seems the Ravenclaw beaters have specific orders to rough him up.

“Walters!” she yells at some point; the sad excuse for a Beater looks up, squints his eyes. “Get them off my ass!”

He looks around, darts towards the Ravenclaws with his bat. She almost cries with how easily they side-step him. Adonis and her are nary a blur at this point, but the bludgers keep coming; the Ravenclaw beaters are two incredibly muscular sixth-years that just zero-in on them gleefully.

Carmilla looks up at Adonis; he's overhead, looking around. “No sign so far,” he yells at her.

She's going to keep guarding him, but, when she looks down, there are two Chasers pressing down on Will on either side. He's speeding across the field, Quaffle in hand. The moment she spots him, he yells, “Kitty!”

“Get higher,” she tells Adonis; he nods and they go off on opposite directions. Carmilla dives to meet her brother. “Go left, Will!”

“ _Will Karnstein shakes off Donner and Grant,”_ the announcer sounds out. “ _A bludger coming in hot- oh! Where did she even come from? Carmilla catches the ball with a low swing- it's Chaser and Beater against LaFontaine!”_

In her head, Carmilla prepares for Perry's inevitable anger and reaims. Grant wants to knock Will off-course; the bludger he slaps back is for the back of Will's broom. She stays right behind him and, in a move both inspired and stupid, waits for the bludger to get worryingly close. They're right up to the hoops, and she can see LaFontaine's confused frown. “Now!”

LaFontaine has no idea she's right behind him. When Will abruptly zooms up and away, she's aiming right at them. There's a split second where LaFontaine's expression turns to incredulity before they're hit on the shoulder; Will throws the ball into an uncovered hoop and the sound of a point being granted graces their ears.

LaF's back hits a hoop; they roll their shoulder, visibly annoyed. “Merlin's beard, Karnstein!”

“I'm not losing ten galleons!”

In the following minutes, the two Karnsteins pull some ridiculous moves that would've made Higgs throw up. Some of them involve Carmilla actually hitting the bludger with her foot – which hurts so much her eyes water – and Will back-flipping over LaF's head. There's a hysteria to the commentary Hall delivers; he, like probably everyone else, thinks this game has turned into some barmy show.

However, their backyard tactics do get them just enough points to tie the game if Adonis hurries the fuck up and gets the snitch. Will and the least-terrible Chaser they have, Nicholson, decide to hold onto the Quaffle for as long as possible, zig-zagging between defense and offense.

“ _In a strange but not altogether surprising turn of events, the Karnsteins – God bless them – have gotten Slytherin five goals- it is now up to Adonis to seal the deal. Oh- there he goes! Ravenclaw's seeker tries to catch up, but he's across the field. They go around – Nicholson tries for a shot at LaFontaine but misses – Slytherin catches the snitch! It's a tie!”_

The Slytherin stands explode. There's screaming, crying, dancing, maybe even a conga line. She wouldn't know, because the second the whistle sounds Carmilla drops a meter and a half to land, face-first, into the sand of the Ravenclaw pit.

“I should kill you for this,” she hears LaFontaine yell. Steps come closer and closer and suddenly she's being pulled up to her feet. LaFontaine is grinning madly. “But I get a feeling Perry will do the honors.”

“I think I broke my foot.”

“I _know_ you broke your foot, you wonderful idiot.”

LaF helps her back onto the broom and they coast through to the entrance. Will stands by the door, shocked, as Adonis repeatedly hits him on the arm. “You two,” Adonis screams when she gets into earshot. “Are fools!”

“We tied the game,” she tells him. It doesn't carry half the weight she means it to, probably because she's getting the world a bit fuzzy at the moment. “We didn't lose.”

“I ought to punch both of you after that stunt!”

“Do it now, I'm going to the hospital wing anyway.” Adonis steps forward and punches her arm. She almost slips off the broom. “Wait. Didn't think you'd actually do it.”

She leaves the locker room with Will carrying her; LaFontaine goes off to find their teammates, promising to visit her afterwards. Carmilla is only just hanging onto consciousness when a flash of yellow and red takes up half her vision.

“Heeey, Perry.” She waves. “What's up?”

“We are having strong words after this, young lady,” Perry hisses; the wording would've been funny if Perry wasn't looking decidedly intimidating. “Very strong words.”

She passes out a little while after that.

 

 

When Carmilla wakes up, her back is so stiff that she knows, before even opening her eyes, she's stuck at the hospital wing. The sheets aren't terribly pleasant nor efficient, since a draft's coming in; not for the first time, she wonders if they're just disguised napkins.

One would expect Hogwarts to invest on decent linens. Or not. Merlin knows this school's priorities are whack.

Carmilla opens her eyes, with half a mind to sneak out, but then something shifts beside her.

It's Laura. She's half-perched in a chair by her bed, right hand on Carmilla's wrist. When Carmilla starts moving, Laura's eyes open slowly, like she's adjusting to the world happening again. Carmilla wonders whether she was dreaming.

“Sneaking out, Hollis?” she croaks.

Laura raises her hand – in a speed probably breaking the sound barrier  _–_ and smacks her up the head. “Don't pull those stunts ever again!”

“Ow!”

“That was reckless and so- _so_ stupid!”

Carmilla grins. “But cool, wasn't it? C'mon, I kicked a damn bludger. That's gotta earn me some credit around here.”

Laura is not having it. Her lips are stretched into a thin line, resembling Perry's a little too much. “Not if you got seriously hurt.”

“I'm alive, though,” she tells her, tugging at her hand. “I'm all in one piece.”

Laura's head drops to her mattress; hair gets loose from her bun, sprawling across Carmilla's side and arm. She kind of wants to touch it, but convinces herself not to.

“You're going to give me an ulcer,” Laura mumbles into the sheets.

It'd be easy to change the subject with a joke or a dig at Laura's sitting position, but because she viscerally despises the idea of causing Laura any kind of distress, she asks: “Are you really mad?”

Laura turns so that she can look up at Carmilla; the moon shines behind the Slytherin, casting shadow over Laura's frame. She looks at Carmilla for a second, eyes darting around her face. “No. I was just- worried, I guess.”

“Worried for me?”

She straightens back up, her hair still falling in soft lines around her face. In the moonlight, it becomes even more apparent that Laura – tiny, nerd Laura – is gorgeous. She gives her a look, and it's really, really hard to ignore the butterflies swarming her gut. “Surely me caring about you is not surprising, Carm.”

But there's wherein the mystery lies: Laura, apparently, was so worried that she broke curfew to sneak down here and sit by Carmilla's bedside. Neither of her brothers are here, nor LaF and Perry, who have known her for longer. That means that, well, Laura cares a great deal, and Carmilla doesn't know what to do with that.

“I- um. Well. I apologize.”

Laura huffs. “Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your foot.”

For Laura's benefit, she stares intently at her feet. “Sorry, foot.”

They stay awake for a little longer, before Laura's eyes start drooping. Carmilla is torn between scooting over so they can share the – quite small – bed, or trying to convince Laura to return to her dorm room. The decision is made for her; Laura simply lies back on the chair, throws her legs over the arm rest, and goes to sleep.

 

 

There are many things she knows for sure. She knows, for example, that Perry's favorite cleaning activity is to douse the offending object in magical solvents and scrub like a madwoman; she knows that, a lot of the time, LaF's things catch fire on purpose, because they're fascinated by it; she knows that Jeep is considering a job at the Ministry because he likes stability, and knows that Will is doing the opposite because he likes the challenge.

She also knows that Cornelius Leto is a disgusting excuse for a human being.

She's walking by the lake, on her way to the hippogriffs' paddock, when a noise catches her attention. It sounds like one of those tiny devils they call first-years; their voices are always so high. It's not a noise of happy children, though. Carmilla shifts her course to pass by the culprit, just to find out.

Behind a tree, Leto and his jackass squadron are huddled around a small boy; he can't be over twelve, with second-hand Ravenclaw robes and a badly repaired pair of glasses. He looks terrified; above his head, Kane shakes his backpack, old books scattering onto the ground.

“For fuck's sake,” she calls; the Slytherins jump a good feet in the air. Hodge, the smallest one, takes a step back. “Leave the kid alone.”

Leto sneers at her. “Get your traitor nose out of what doesn't concern you.”

She rolls her eyes and stalks up to them; Carmilla takes the bag from Kane, who is torn between fleeing and staying with Leto. “I'm not surprised the only target you can get is a child- you _are_ useless. And your little friends, following you around like lost puppies- you're a shame to all your families.”

The boy steps closer to her; it's impressive and a little heartbreaking that he's smaller than her at all. She gives him his bag. Leto watches with anger, but doesn't do anything. He's a coward, and they all know it.

“You have no honor,” Leto spits at her. “There's no weight to your words.”

She steps closer to him, shoulders wide and feet spread apart. There's an intimidating aura about her, and she knows it; Carmilla is the school's best at DADA, and she's gained an impressive amount of muscle after fourth year. But it's not just her own reputation that scares them; there could be hell to pay for messing with a family as old as hers.

“You know nothing of honor, Cornelius,” she hisses; from the corner of her eye, Carmilla sees the boy tentatively collect his things. “All you know is the pitiful theory your father's given you- the only one that corroborates your idea of superiority. I know why you cling to it so much, too- if it's not true, then you're not worth half of any one else.”

“Fucking bitch-”

She takes out her wand at the same time he does; they point theirs at each other, jaws locked. Carmilla is not above saying she's loving this. “You're pathetic. A child following daddy's rules. One day, it'll all crash down on you, and I'll be there to laugh.”

The boy finally gathers all his things; she steps in between him and the Slytherins. Carmilla flicks her wand to the right, and says, “Leave.”

“I can take you.” Leto says. His hand is shaking.

“No, you can't. Don't fool yourself.”

With a final glare, Leto lowers his wand, and they stomp away. Carmilla walks the boy to Hagrid's cabin, and waves off his thanks. He's small and weak and afraid, and it all reminds her too much of herself.

 

 

Perry invites them back for Christmas. Only the Karnsteins can go. Mattie and Betty said they'd be somewhere near Prague during festivities; though Carmilla understands that as  _anywhere_ in Continental Europe, because when push comes to shove Europe is stupidly tiny, so it's all close to each other. Until Laura and LaF arrive on the day after Christmas, they have a quiet break; JP and Carmilla mostly read and play chess, Will discovers the wonders of television, and Perry knits her little heart out.

When the doorbell rings, Perry is in the process of sticking a protesting Bagheera into a bright pink kitty sweater. It is both an adorable and difficult task; but Perry has a way of getting what she wants, and, by the time Carmilla opens the door, Bagheera has accepted his fate.

LaFontaine tackles Carmilla with a hug the moment they come through- they're wearing a Santa hat that pokes at Carmilla's eyeball. She returns the affection with that in mind. “LaF.”

“Hey!”

LaFontaine bounces off to their next victim, and Laura steps in. She's got a pretty green sweater with the shapes of reindeer on them, which causes Carmilla to smile. Laura raises a finger at her.

“Don't laugh at the reindeer, Carmilla.”

“I'm not. You look good, that's all.”

Laura's mouth opens and closes for a bit, before she settles on, “thank you.”

“Let me take your things,” she says, lifting her trunk with ease. Laura is still standing at the awning, staring. It's a bit strange. “Come in, Willy-boy made hot chocolate.”

Perry notices Laura's arrival a while late and comes up to hug her. Carmilla mentally slaps herself for not doing the same. “Put her things on my room, Carmilla,” she tells her after letting go. “You'll share with LaF again.”

LaF gives her two thumbs up. She's not excited about that. LaF tends to talk while sleeping. And it's never normal things they say; once there was a whole one-sided conversation about the methods of extraction of flobberworms' insides. Carmilla did not sleep after that.

When she comes back, they're all huddled on the floor by the lit fireplace. Ms. Perry – who appears to be as busy as Mattie – is nowhere to be seen. She squeezes in between Will and Laura, taking the tea she'd left by the kitchen counter with her.

Ms. Perry arrives just before snow covers the streets. She goes upstairs to rest- it hasn't been an easy day at her work, they gather. JP gets her a cup of tea beforehand; she thanks him, with that amused smile she seems to get around the Karnsteins.

“So helpful,” LaFontaine teases Jeep, causing him to blush. “Always getting people things.”

“It's a habit,” he defends. “I get Mattie coffee all the time. She works a lot, like your mother.”

Carmilla moves to the kitchen to make a sandwich for herself; the place is warm and well-lit, even under the hood of falling snow. Laura comes with her, sitting at the counter while Carmilla looks for the cheese.

“What does your sister do?” Laura asks, over her mug. The steam coming up from it turns the tip of her nose pink.

“Oh, she does a lot of things,” Carmilla frowns, trying to remember. “When Maman died, Matska inherited both the Luce and Karnstein accounts and businesses. I think we have like a bank somewhere in Austria, and some few magic shops up here. She travels a lot because of her dad's old contacts. He was a foreign business adviser.”

“Wow. She really is busy.”

“Yeah. I think the boys and I are going to take up some of her positions when we graduate, so she can rest a little more.”

“What did your dad do?”

Carmilla answers truthfully, because it's Laura. “He raised hippogriffs.”

Laura's whole being lights up with excitement. It is grossly adorable and Carmilla needs to  _get a grip_ . “Really?”

Carmilla nods, smiling. “Yeah. What does your dad do?”

“Dad's a mathematician- he works in a muggle university, gives classes. I know it's boring, especially considering...”

“I think that's impressive. A man of intellect,” she winks at Laura, who flushes. “Just like his daughter.”

“Are you like your dad too?”

Laura looks like she wants to take that back the moment she says it; however, to her surprise, the idea of talking of him doesn't hurt as much as it used to. She offers Laura a sandwich; she takes it, puzzled. “I am, but I don't resemble him physically. The boys do. JP looks a lot like he did, just paler.”

Noise from the living room filters in; Laura watches her from under her lashes. “He sounds like he was a great person.”

“He was.” Carmilla bites her lip, wondering if her next words are supposed to ever see the light of day. “Hey, Laura?”

Carmilla saying her name always brings Laura's attention. “What?”

“If you ever want to talk about your mother, you know I'd like to listen, right?”

A shadow creeps onto Laura's face; she's always so kind and warm and smiling that people forget she has a past. Carmilla can't, even if she wants to. Most things about Laura are etched onto her brain, like little leaflets that help understand the puzzle of Hollis. The look on her eyes right then, of fear and hesitance, will join the list too.

She doesn't meet her eyes; instead, Laura's free hand comes to grip her own arm, as if shielding herself from Carmilla. “Carm...”

“Sorry.” Carmilla steps close to her, tugs on the bottom of her sweater. “I didn't mean to upset you. You just... don't have to carry it alone, if you don't want to. I understand if you want to talk of this with someone else, though. Perhaps Lawrence, even.”

“I haven't talked to Danny in months,” Laura breathes, like it pains her to admit so.

“Oh. That's unfortunate.”

Laura half-smiles. “I know you hate her, Carm. You don't have to lie.”

“I may dislike her, but it doesn't negate the fact that she's special to you.”

A sigh comes out of Laura. She leans into Carmilla a little; they're standing shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite sides, and Laura's cheek brushes against her shirt. “She kissed me.”

It's like a punch to the gut. Carmilla works hard to keep from showing any emotion, while yelling at herself for that. She has no claim on Laura and her affections, and it's always been obvious that Lawrence has carried a torch for Laura for years. But, Merlin, it does hurt a lot. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you haven't talked?”

“It's been weird. I told her I don't like her in that way, and Danny wanted space. I don't know. I feel like I messed up in some way.”

“Have you told Perry?”

“Yeah. She said it would be unkind to Danny to be in a relationship if I'm not as invested as she is.”

Carmilla nods, puts down her plate. Then she reaches over and draws Laura into a hug; Laura's nose presses against the underside of her jaw, and her free hand grips Carmilla's waist. “That sucks.”

“You can say that again.” Laura replies, breath warm against her skin. “Can we just hug for a while?”

Carmilla laughs, pressing her even closer; Laura puts her half-eaten sandwich on her plate and holds her properly. “Sure.”

 

 

Admittedly, it is a good strategy. To lure them all into a false sense of security and peace, so that the students all drop their guards and professors stop patrolling. Especially after Christmas, while everyone is still riding a high.

Carmilla'd be more impressed if she wasn't being pelted by stunning spells.

“What class are they at, again?” she yells over the ricocheting beams of magic.

LaF peeks out of their cover – a fallen maple table – and glances at her. Carmilla's position is thankfully less precarious, since she's pressed up behind the threshold of their Charms classroom. Maybe this is a sign to stop hanging around empty rooms with her friends. She'll think about it.

“I don't-” they duck back behind as a _Flipendo_ crackles past their head.

Will, who is behind the other entrance, takes a deep breath and yells, “they're at Potions!” before being stupendously dumb and pointing his wand out in any direction. “ _Expulso!_ ”

Something explodes and they hear the sound of a solid mass hitting the floor. They all freeze, looking at each other with terrified expressions, before LaFontaine peeks out to see. “He's unconscious. Move!”

The four of them run out of the classroom with shaky legs; Jeep ties the Hood twice, just to make sure. From all around the school, they can hear the sounds of fighting. They seem to be coming off strongly from downstairs, which is where they're headed.

The stairs are a battleground. Most of the paintings are empty, some charred in places and crooked. On the first floor, they encounter two Gryffindors trying to hold against six attackers. When they step in to help, one of them almost cries in relief.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Carmilla is perfectly aware that she could simply lock herself up and wait. She can hold her own against a few of them, and they're not coming for people like her. However, the part of her that considers that is so minimal that the thought passes by in the millisecond it takes for her to raise her wand.

The Hood in front is blasted from the stairwell by spells thrown by both LaFontaine and Carmilla; he screams before he hits the marble floor. The duo continues to pelt them with dangerous, aggressive spells; Carmilla tosses another one off the stairs and LaFontaine sets one's robes on fire. Jeep disarms one, who starts to raise his hands in surrender. Will disregards it completely and, in a move that would make her laugh were she not furious, grabs one of the Gryffindor's books on the ground and hurls it at his face.

LaFontaine takes the opportunity and sprints down the stairs; Carmilla, with a brief glance at her brothers, does the same. The Great Hall is exploding with battles  _–_ she can spot at least thirty Hoods in there, their tall dementor-like attire making them easy to spot. But none of the students inside are ones they know; Carmilla takes LaF's arm and they run past the crowds, gunning for the dungeons.

A Hood is immediately in front of the entrance, back to them as they swing curses at someone they can't see. Carmilla foregoes her wand and straight-up punches them, fist colliding with the base of the person's skull; the guy goes down like a leaf, and she kicks the body for good measure.

“Where's-”

LaFontaine points off to a side, from which they hear the sound of cauldrons rolling on the floor. A strange fog drifts off into the hallway from inside, black swirling to their ankles. Whomever was fighting the Hood before has ducked back into that room.

“Perry!” LaFontaine calls, their voice cracking. “Hollis!”

The noise of fighting continues; LaFontaine reaches the door and kicks it open, hex falling from their lips the second they can see. Carmilla catches up just in time to pull them off the threshold, the top of which dismantles and drops stones where their head would be.

There are about five Hoods inside the Potions classroom, with ten or so students taking cover behind their counters. There are a few bodies on the ground, still and silent. Horror grips her heart like a vice.

A Hood sees them come in and tosses a few more spells at them; Carmilla, at pulling LaF away, is wide open, and a curse sends her sprawling backwards, head knocking on the ground. A shout comes through the fog: it's LaF, calling out for her.

She'd bitten her tongue on impact; her mouth fills with acrid blood, and she has to spit it out to try and answer. “I'm fine!”

LaFontaine advances enough to hide behind a desk; Carmilla takes point by the doorway. She looks into the room briefly, but long enough to see Lawrence, when the table behind which she hid is blasted apart, and the Hood responsible has their mouth open for a next spell.

She can't speak clearly enough for a spell  _–_ by instinct or luck, she doesn't even try. Carmilla silently casts a charm on a cauldron nearby, and yanks it towards them. It hits their face with a loud clank, bones and flesh turning concave upon impact.

Lawrence spots her, eyes wide and frantic. Carmilla yells, “get the fuck back!”

A stunning spell shrouds the room in white, the last Hood falling unconscious. The caster rises from behind their cover; it's Perry, face wet with tears and hands shaking.

“Oh, thank God,” LaFontaine cries. They run to Perry, arms open, and she falls into them. “Where's Laura?”

Carmilla crosses the room in record time at the sight of Laura rising from their table. She sees Carmilla and climbs on top of it, colliding with her in the middle of the room. Carmilla clings to her, desperately, gripping the fabric of her coat so hard it might rip.

“You're bleeding again,” Laura says. She supposes it was to be a joke or a quip, but Laura's entire body is shaking. Then she starts sobbing. “Why is it always you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she tells her. Over her shoulder, Perry lets go of LaFontaine a little so she can raise a hand towards Carmilla; she grips it, tightly.

Laura tucks her face further into her scarf and doesn't talk until the shaking subsides.

 

 

McGonagall gives them the next two weeks for tests and then the year is going to end. There's much to be done in the castle, many people to be expelled. Turns out Leto was one of the culprits, with his gaggle of minions. Other fifteen Slytherins are involved too; though, against all odds, most of the Hoods are either Ravenclaws or graduated students.

The theory is that they were looking for something the Death Eaters had left behind. No on e knows what or why, because the Aurors and McGonagall have stayed tight-lipped about it, but the rumors fly with the speed of truth around Hogwarts. Maybe a relic of Voldemort's past, or an item lost by Potter; the most well-regarded theory is that they wanted entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

A huge government operation begins to herd out any and all supporters of the Hoods. Every day for the next couple of weeks they get lists of caught perpetrators on the Daily Prophet; names ranging from unknown to post-war apologists. It should bring them comfort, but as time passes, most are still weary and sad.

But, she hopes a long summer will help take out that frown from Perry's and Laura's faces.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT ONE COMES OUT NEXT WEEK WHO ELSE IS DYING


	6. sixth year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> act one was so good. like so good. i am in awe and still crying about it. i know we all talk about nat and elise being incredible - which they are - but wow, kaitlyn did a brilliant job too. wow.
> 
> thanks, once again, to my beta. matheus, you're a darling. thanks for putting up with my 3AM rants and lack of punctuation.

 

 

 

Of all the great things her sister has done in her life, convincing Mr. Hollis to let Laura spend the summer at the Karnstein's is surely the most impressive.

Betty has a hand on Carmilla's shoulder while they wait for the fireplace to flicker. Laura had to go to LaFontaine's by muggle car and then they'd be flooing together to their house. Perry had thankfully arrived a day earlier; she stood by Will and Jeep, back straight like a rod. It was almost like they'd be welcoming the Queen or something.

“I'd always wondered,” Betty says airily. Carmilla thinks she's been spending too much time with Mattie; what she says afterwards confirms it. “If you're as hard to read as your sister, when it comes to liking someone. You're not.”

Carmilla glares at her. “You're supposed to be the nice one.”

Green flames lick the inside of the fireplace and Carmilla is torn between freezing in the spot or running the fuck away. She doesn't have time for the latter, though, because Laura barrels out, directly in front of them.

She strangles out a greeting – because Laura has either gotten even  _more_ beautiful or she's having that one of those stupid 'forgot how pretty the girl I like is' moments – before Laura rolls her eyes, foregoes talking altogether, and hugs her.

“Your hair looks great,” Laura tells her. She holds Carmilla closer and for longer than she expected, which means Carmilla's cheeks are _burning_ right now. “Did you do something?”

“I gave her bangs.” Betty's amused voice cuts in. Laura lets go of her and moves to greet the others. But the damage is done, and LaFontaine's shit-eating grin is the next thing she sees.

By some small mercy, they say nothing of it. But it's there, and she's gritting her teeth anyway.

“Your house is so _fancy,”_ LaF breathes when they step into the left hallway. There are a couple of doors down the way, all tall and solid wood; the floor in here is well polished and not as worn as, say, their rooms', but still walked on. Jeep leads the visitors to a sitting room, amused by LaF's gaping.

She takes their bags with Will's help, waving off the others' complaints. Laura tags along, looking a little frazzled- she glances around the rooms, at the busts and paintings.

“You're staying on the west wing,” she tells Laura. “Our rooms are just across the stairs.”

“You have a _wing_?” she asks incredulously. “Like people have in Pemberley?”

Carmilla opens the door of Laura's room; it's barren, as guest rooms usually are, with a double bed and a closet. She deposits the bags on the foot of the bed. “What's Pemberley?”

“It's from Jane Austen.”

“You keep saying words as if I understand them.”

“She's a muggle writer.”

“Oh. Well, we do have wings- it is a manor, after all.” When Laura steps around the room, not touching anything in fear it might break, Carmilla heaves a sigh. “Sweetheart, it's my house, so it's yours too. Don't worry about it.”

Light strikes the chandelier on the ceiling, casting small circles of brightness on Laura's form across the room. “Alright,” she finally says, then shakes her head. “I'm being silly.”

Carmilla meets her at the door, puts a hand on Laura's back. “Perry's house weirded me out a little, I won't lie.”

Laura snorts. “What?”

“Yeah.” They start going down the stairs. “All homey and full of yellows and flowers... The closest thing we have to flowers around here is that vase Betty made when she tried pottery. And she didn't even want it to look like lilacs.”

 

 

 

Mattie gets there on the second day, during lunch. Betty made food for them – mostly because she didn't have anything else to do – and the teenagers are sitting around the outside patio, eating and talking. She knows the second her sister arrives, because LaF and Laura turn comically quiet, and Perry gives off the same politeness she did when they first met.

“Hello, children,” she greets them. Betty, who'd stepped out to answer a letter, comes back. It's like they're fine tuned to each other in some way. “Elizabeth.”

Betty makes a face and steps into Mattie's arms, kissing her cheek. The triplets gag in unison. “Stop with that,” Will grunts. “We're eating.”

Mattie winks at him and pulls a giggling Betty into the house.

“Yeah, we're staying here for a while.” Carmilla decides. Both her siblings nod.

“I would've thought your sister wasn't much for displaying affection,” LaFontaine wonders aloud. “She's always so serious and buttoned up.”

“I think it's just a Betty thing,” Will answers. “Ever since they came out to us it's been like that.”

She's sitting next to Laura – which is a given – and by Perry. The latter's back is less tense, but she's still morphing back from Very Serious Perry. She's only more tightly wound when they're next to a professor in class and Carmilla makes a joke or curses; and, maybe, in the days where any of them is at the hospital wing. She can understand both of them.

Propriety was an important subject in the Karnstein household before Mattie. It'd been so ingrained in them by the elves and Maman that letting go of it like the others did was a challenge. It also provided an escape for the times Carmilla has found herself at a loss in situations, which happens everyday with Laura.

Who has suddenly turned to her with impossibly honey eyes and said, very seriously, “How many books do you have in your library?”

Carmilla swallows because Laura is considerably closer than anticipated. “I don't know. You'd have to count.”

“Can I read any?”

“What part of 'my house is your house' did you not understand?”

Laura glares. It's not as menacing as she wants it to be. “Don't be difficult.”

“I'm not. I'm just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Laura visibly doesn't know what to do with that information. “So, can I?”

“For the love of- _yes_ , sweetheart, you can read them. Any of them. All of them. The whole library.”

Carmilla makes the mistake of looking her in the eyes again. Maybe there's some kind of spell to them that's supposed to render dumb Slytherins helpless. She should look into it.

“I'm just trying to make sure, Carm.”

“How does your father ever deny you anything?” She rubs at her temple. “I should ask him.”

Laura has her favorite smile on: that wide, crooked show of amusement she keeps close to her heart. “The last thing I need is you and my dad comparing notes.”

“I'm sure there are worst things. Like losing one of your Thursday socks.”

Laura fake-glares at her – it's like a puppy trying to look menacing. A familiar warmth blooms across Carmilla's chest and spreads through her body, reaching her fingertips and ears. It's odd, because she is surrounded by people she loves, but only Laura can get that reaction from her.

But at the same time, it isn't. She knows why. She just doesn't want to acknowledge it. If denying it had worked so far, why has it stopped so suddenly? What's she supposed to do now?

Laura is constantly close to her, sweet-smelling and kindhearted, holding her hand and talking about the strangest things with a smile. It's partially her fault, of course, because she always gravitates towards her in a room, like a compass pointing north. Can anyone blame her, though? Half of Hogwarts has a crush on her.

 

 

 

They get their OWLs results faster than expected – and faster than she wanted to – during the first few weeks of break. Instead of the breakneck battle of the spiky-haired, it's Perry who takes the owls' letters. She gives them out, two envelopes each, until it's Carmilla's turn; then she gives her three envelopes.

“The third is where McGonagall tells me how stupid I truly am and expels me,” Carmilla deadpans. “I'm surprised it took her so long.”

“Open the damn thing.”

She first opens her exam results, scanning with her heart on her throat.

 

_Astronomy: E_

_Charms: A_

_Care of Magical Creatures: O_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: O_

_Herbology: E_

_History of Magic: P_

_Potions: E_

_Study of Ancient Runes: O_

_Transfiguration: O_

 

_Outstanding [O]_

_Exceeds Expectations [E]_

_Acceptable [A]_

_Poor [P]_

_Dreadful [D]_

_Troll [T]_

 

“Yes!” LaFontaine climbs on top of the coffee table, to JP's vocal displeasure. “I passed History of Magic!”

Carmilla laughs. “Cool, LaF. I didn't.”

“You slept through class.”

“I'm not denying it.”

“How many did you get?” Laura looks over Carmilla's shoulder, cheek pressing into Carmilla's cheekbone.

“Eight,” she says. “You?”

Laura looks a bit sheepish. Well, at least the half of her Carmilla can see. “Ten.”

“ _Ten_?” Both Carmilla and Will yell, with identical gasps.

“Well, yeah.”

“You're a fucking _genius_ ,” Carmilla says, pulling her into a hug. Laura is small in her arms, shaking with laughter. She shakes her a little just for the hell of it. “Holy shit, cupcake. I knew you were smart but that's like, LaFontaine levels of smart.”

“Did you just compliment me?” LaFontaine pipes up; they smirk down at where she's sitting.

“Trick of your mind. You're impressively daft.”

“Perry?” Jeep asks, frowning. “How many did you get?”

They all turn to look at her. She's staring down at the paper, a crazed look to her, as if the paper contains the biggest paradox she's ever known. It's almost scary, to a point where no one dares walk up to her, except LaFontaine, who is exempt from normal rules around Perry.

“Per?” they say, sidling up to her. “What's wrong?”

“I got ten,” she breathes. “Ten.”

“That's great!” LaFontaine cheers, then they look over to where Laura and Carmilla shake their heads vigorously. “Or not?”

“I got an E.”

LaFontaine's face morphs from excitement, to puzzlement, then to understanding. “In what?”

“Arithmancy,” she whispers. Her hands are shaking. From the corner of her eye, she sees that Jeep is backing up. She tries to follow him, but Laura is still in her arms and tugs her back down.

“Do you want to do something related to Arithmancy?” they ask gently.

Perry blinks as if righting herself. Carmilla feels as if she's witnessed the world's quickest meltdown. Perry is economical even in her blowups. “No.”

“Then it's fine. Kitty,” they say, turning to her. Carmilla's eyes widen, the message of _'don't drag me into this'_ perfectly clear. But they ignore it, of course. “How much did you get on Herbology?”

“An Exceeds Expectations.”

“And in Charms?”

Carmilla's face sours. She mumbles, “An Acceptable,” with no small degree of reluctance.

“See? You did better than Carmilla.”

“Fuck you.”

Laura shifts so she's half on Carmilla's lap, legs on top of hers while she sits on the ground. Carmilla's distraught expression dissipates instantly. “Flitwick will still let you into classes,” Laura tells her. “I think he likes you.”

“I don't even know how I passed the OWLs, Hollis,” she keeps an eye on Perry while she answers, because the girl is still standing over her letters. “I'm horrendous at Charms.”

“We're still going to have Hagrid's class together, right?”

“Of course.”

She seems satisfied by the answer. Laura picks up her other envelope and hands it to her, pushy hands poking at her shoulder until she opens it. Something metallic falls off the parchment: it's a Quidditch Captain badge.

“I knew it!” Will legitimately _screams_ , high-pitched and deafening. “I knew Walsh would pick you!”

“I'm just _that_ good at bossing people around,” she drawls.

Laura's eyes widen a fraction. Carmilla doesn't pay it much attention because  _Merlin's pantyhose_ , she's the Slytherin Captain. This is possibly the best thing that's ever happened to her – if she excludes everything related to Laura – in years.

“Does this mean I get to give out deten-”

“No.” Both Jeep and Perry say in unison.

Carmilla pouts a little. Laura, who still hasn't moved from her lap, gets just that much closer, hiding her laugh against Carmilla's shoulder. Lightning courses through Carmilla for a quick moment after that, but it's been happening so often that she's learned to hide it. So she tightens her grip around Laura and lets the others chatter about the supplies they'll need.

 

 

 

It used to be quite a strange sight, the lot of them at King's Cross. Not only during the passage through the muggle crowd – who looked at them oddly for their heavy trunks and occasional owls – but through their classmates. There were few who found normal having Lola Perry, resident know-it-all and mother hen, walk around with William Karnstein, who was constantly in detention and taught most first years all the curse words they knew now. But, time has brought Hogwarts to accept or tolerate the mixing of houses and temperaments.

Not enough, however, for people to find normalcy in Carmilla helping Laura and Perry load their trunks into the car. Her reputation has always been of a closed-off, haughty Slytherin who laughs while beating people up on the pitch, and she hasn't exactly tried to change people's minds. After all, she's not going to help anyone else. Those first-years can get crushed for all she cares.

“C'mon,” she says as more students show up. “We should get seats.”

Laura follows her happily – her hand, as its been wont to do, comes to loosely wrap around Carmilla's lower arm. It's both a great and a terrible thing; but so is having feelings for Laura Hollis, in general.

A car at the very end of the Express is empty. Will and LaFontaine come in, the first ducking his head to not hit the doorway; Carmilla starts to come in too, before she catches Danny Lawrence's eyes a few doors up.

In that split second, she goes through a myriad of responses: she could ignore her longing look at Laura, get protective and go up to her, or even send her a middle finger and lock the door. But the first is impossible, because now Lawrence has seen her, and the latter, though satisfying, won't do anything. And being protective of Laura is ridiculous, because Laura has time and time again proven to not need looking after, just someone who has her back.

“Sweetheart,” she says, tugging Laura back into the corridor. From her spot, Lawrence hears the word and grimaces. Carmilla can't actually bring herself to care. “Do you want to talk to Lawrence?”

Laura doesn't turn around, doesn't look at the Gryffindor. Her eyes dart between Carmilla and the window to the outside. “I don't know.”

“You sure about that?”

She stops and looks Carmilla straight in the eyes. “Can I come back afterwards?”

Carmilla rolls her eyes so hard she's surprised they don't pop out. “If you want to, yeah.”

“I'm coming back.”

“All right. Good luck. Yell if you want me to blast her out of the train.”

It's her turn to scoff. “I doubt that will be necessary, but thanks.”

Carmilla, without a second glance at Lawrence, goes inside and shuts the door as Laura walks up to Lawrence. LaFontaine and Will are frowning at her, creases on their brows almost identical.

“Where's Hollis?”

“She's gone up to talk to Clifford.”

LaFontaine cocks their head at the same time as Will shakes his own. “I hope that's gonna work out. Girl's been beating herself up for awhile. Do you think they-”

“I don't think Hollis is into her like that,” Carmilla says. She sits down heavily on the other window seat, Bagheera's cage on her lap. He paws at the air so she'll let him free. “But, you never know.”

“You know who Clifford is?” asks LaFontaine, still hung up on what Carmilla finds to be the least important part of the conversation.

“Perry let us watch TV.”

“And you watched _Clifford_?”

Carmilla doesn't answer, while Will mumbles something by way of explanation. LaFontaine presses until he admits, “We didn't know how to change channels.”

LaF laughs so hard their face matches their hair. Carmilla scowls.

Laura does come back, a few minutes after JP and Perry do. She curls up next to Carmilla, hands on her waist, head on her shoulder; even lets out a sigh. “We're friends again,” she tells Carmilla. “It's good.”

 

 

 

It is good. Somewhat.

She's not sure if Laura spots the rigidity of any of interaction Carmilla ever has with Lawrence, or how she can never sit down with both of them at the same time. But it's not terrible that Laura makes sure to sit with her at breakfast and dinner, laughing and making faces.

There's something prickling at her, though. Something just under what she's let herself think, a question she's had for a long time and has never brought up. It takes a while to gather up the courage to bring it up, but she manages to say it during a cold afternoon by the lake.

They're all spread about under a tree, books and parchment strewn about. Will is napping, cheek resting on LaF's extended leg, JP reading a book next to him. Perry talks about something or other, in that forcefully reserved way of hers, while LaFontaine listens fondly. It's the look on LaFontaine's eyes, of emotion threatening to spill out, that gives Carmilla a nudge.

Laura's head is on her lap; she's listening to Perry too, though her eyes are on the tree above them. They reflect the leaves every time the sun peeks out of a cloud.

“Hollis.” Carmilla waits until she looks up at her. “I have a semi-serious question.”

“I'm not helping you and LaF set Theo Straka's cape on fire.”

“That's not it- though I'm sorry to hear that. It'll be a spectacle.”

“What's up, then?”

Carmilla plucks grass from the ground, refusing to seek her eyes. “Did you ever agree with Lawrence's opinion of us?”

She shifts as Laura sits up; she's angled away, tucked into herself; Laura just takes one of her hands, entwining their fingers. “For a short while, yeah.”

At the silence, Laura presses on. “Danny was my only friend and I'd just gotten here. After a war against people like me. I thought she knew better- and I thought I knew better. Everything seemed to be so... black and white. But, you were nice to me every time we met, and made me laugh during dinner. So I realized how unfair that was. I'm sorry, though.”

“That was a lot of information at once.”

“Yeah.”

Carmilla squeezes Laura's hand. “It's all right. I asked.”

“I'm not apologizing for the answer. I'm apologizing for having judged you.”

“I don't blame you, 'Puff,” she says with a wry grin. “It's a dangerous world for muggleborns.”

Laura's face drops a little; she runs her thumb over the back of Carmilla's hand. “I'm scared, sometimes. There's a lot of people who want witches like me to- well, die. And you guys keep saving me-  _you_ keep saving me...”

Carmilla finds that statement absurd in many levels. “You saved me during second year, don't think I've forgotten. We're even. And it's not like you need saving, Hollis.”

Apparently she says the right thing. Laura grins – the same giddy quirk of lips she sported when they'd met at Hagrid's garden for class all those years ago – and leans forward to kiss Carmilla's cheek. Carmilla's brain melts into goo, thus failing at keeping her from turning into a stuttering, blushing mess.

“Thanks, Carm.”

“Um- yeah, sure.”

She doesn't pull apart, though. Laura first herself against Carmilla's side, legs on her lap again, and waits until Carmilla puts her hand on her waist to relax. Her breath comes in calm waves of air against Carmilla's neck.

 

 

 

When she first got her schedule, Carmilla was overjoyed at the amount of free periods she had. All she thought about was the napping, reading, and flying she could do in those precious moments of freedom.

Instead, she spends them dealing with the insane amount of homework she's gotten. Getting into NEWT classes was all fine and dandy on paper, but now she's up to her neck in essays.

But sometimes she gets someone's company. LaFontaine and Perry oftentimes are around, passing each other books and inkwells in that strange, puzzle-pieces way they do. Jeep likes to study at the common room, most times, but he passes by their table at the library every now and then. Even Will shows up, bleary-eyed and grumpy, to check his Charms essays.

Most times it's Laura.

She's got nine classes to Carmilla's seven, and it's a wonder how she does it, but it also kind of isn't, because if anyone can do their best at this it's Laura. But even then, she's grown more and more tired and, by the time November greets them, she's uncharacteristically quiet at their table.

“I used to spend hours down here,” Carmilla tells her, breaking the silence. Laura looks up, a smudge of ink on her left eyebrow. “During first and second year.”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“I wondered why you were here every single time I came by.” Laura smiles. “I thought you were a huge nerd. Now I _know_ you're a huge nerd.”

“Says the one doing a project for _extra credit_.”

Laura pokes out her tongue. “I'm covering my bases, thank you very much.”

“Do they revoke your _overachiever_ card if you get an Acceptable?”

“Probably even fine you.”

Warmth unfurls its wings at the sight of Laura's shoulders relaxing. “You can breathe a little, you know?” Carmilla looks down at her papers, noting how messy her penmanship has become. “You're doing great.”

“I don't know, Carm,” she sighs. “I keep thinking I'm a bit behind everyone.”

“That's a fallacy if I've ever heard one.”

“Well-”

“You got ten OWLs, sweetheart.”

“So? Grades aren't everything.” Laura frowns and gestures at her vaguely. “You and LaF are probably the most intelligent people here and yet you didn't get all passing grades. They don't define you at all.”

Carmilla fiddles with her book, ears tinting red. Thank Merlin for long hair. “Look at it this way- LaFontaine's intelligence and interests don't align with the ones in our curriculum. They don't want to redo what the book says- they want to write the books. And my grades- well, truly, I could've tried harder at most of them – besides Charms, because  _fuck_ Charms – but that doesn't excuse how few of them I got.”

Laura kind of glares at her. It's an unsettling sight, in its rarity. “Now who's being too hard on themselves?”

Carmilla groans; the librarian's hawk eyes snap to her for a second. She pretends to be reading for a while, just so she'll look away, while Laura visibly giggles behind a book. When the coast is clear, she responds.

“You're too wily to be a 'Puff,” she grumbles, making Laura grin winningly. Carmilla straightens up on her seat. “Weren't you a hatstall?”

She nods. “I was, yeah. It was a toss-up between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff-” she rolls her eyes at Carmilla's disgusted expression, “But I asked for Hufflepuff, in the end. It sounded more fun, and that's all a kid really wants, right?”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

“You and this dumb rivalry, I swear-”

“It's not really serious, though,” she explains, before Laura lectures her _again_ about this. “Hasn't been for a while. It's just fun.”

“Imagine if you'd been in Gryffindor?”

They both grin at the idea. “That'd be a trip.”

“Did you always think you were going to Slytherin?”

Carmilla stomach rolls with a flashback to the anxiety of that day. “I was hoping for Ravenclaw, actually. Slytherin was my last choice.”

Laura cocks her head to the side. “But- the hat didn't care?”

“I think-” and she plays with her quill now, distracting herself, “It knew I wanted to prove myself more than anything. And- well, it fits the ambition quota, doesn't it? That's probably why my brothers are in Slytherin too.”

A hand takes the quill from her; Laura puts it aside to hold her palm against hers. It's a weird position, with her halfway draped on the table, but Laura doesn't seem to care. Frankly, neither does Carmilla.

She can see all the millions of questions Laura wants to ask behind her pupils, like needles frantically trying to escape and find purchase. But Laura doesn't ask them, doesn't pry. It bothers her a little, because asking is such a big part of her personality, but it's also comforting. Laura won't push for what she cannot give.

“Smart and determined,” she says instead, words dancing from her smiling lips, “Explains why so many girls here have a crush on you.”

Carmilla's smirk spreads slowly, and so does Laura's answering blush. “Are you one of them, Hollis?”

“Don't ruin the moment.”

But she's still grinning and holding her hand, so Carmilla counts this all as a win.

The moment is ruined, however, by the sudden appearance of LaFontaine. They plop down next to Laura, causing her to drop Carmilla's hand. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, LaF.”

They're unfazed by Carmilla's glare; she does not greet them, and instead moves back to her work.

 

 

 

Their shoes disappear into the snow as they walk at the gardens. From where they are, Carmilla can already hear the sounds of people shouting and laughing, as the annual snowball fight rolls on. She's not participating, of course, but there's an unspoken rule that she should be present.

So she lets her brothers go off to pelt each other with packed ice and goes to find Perry. She's not too far from the action, but just enough so that nothing will come to her; Perry smiles in greeting as she walks up.

“LaF's in there already?”

Perry hums. She flicks her wand at Carmilla; warmth suddenly comes to her fingers and ears. She's never been more grateful for Perry's Pops. “You'd think they'd learn not to go after all these years. They're always on the losing side.”

“I bet LaF likes the challenge.”

“Where's Laura?”

Carmilla frowns. “I thought she was coming with you?”

“No- she said she was coming with someone.” Perry sighs. “It's probably Danny.”

“Oh.”

“Are you two still locked in that love triangle?”

They both look up to see a smiling LaFontaine approach. They throw themselves onto the seat beside Carmilla, shaking snow from their hair. Carmilla is offended, both because of their words, and because now she's got snow on her again. “What are you, a dog?”

LaFontaine rolls their eyes. “I'm so done with your deflecting.”

“There is no love triangle.”

Even Perry scoffs at that. Carmilla reaches another tier of affront. “If the reason you haven't asked Laura on a date yet is that silly notion of lesser worth...”

She says nothing. Perry and LaFontaine exchange a  _look_ .

Then she's being shoved off the wooden seat and into the snow.

“What the _fuck_ -”

“Hey...?”

She gets pulled to her feet by someone's hand; it's Laura, who obviously looks gorgeous and warm while Carmilla's clothes are soaked through. The thought comes to her and, without losing Laura's hand, Carmilla turns around and gives both gingers a middle finger. It lasts a solid five seconds.

“I'm going back to my room,” she tells them. She starts turning back around to leave, but Laura tugs her back. “I'm cold, Hollis. And this has been humiliating enough.”

Laura also gives her a  _look_ . What's up with that? “You're so  _dramatic_ .”

She takes out her wand and, with an ease she's come to expect from Laura and casting, swishes it around; the water is pulled out from her robes in the blink of an eye.

Grumbling, she moves to sit on the furthest side of the bench, and pulls Laura with her. “You joining in this year?” she asks.

“God, no. Kirsch's crew is at least twice my height.”

She laughs – not a tinkling, honey laugh like Laura's nor the burst of high-pitched delight LaFontaine gives out – but a quick, raspy thing she tries to stifle. The other two don't notice, but Laura's head turns to her again, a familiar unsettling look to her eyes.

“What?” she asks, self-conscious. Carmilla never quite knows what to do with Laura's fond smiles.

“Nothing.”

Carmilla nudges her. The gingers are off in their own world, so she can drop her guard for a few seconds. “C'mon.”

“You carry so much sadness,” Laura starts, voice pitched low like she's afraid of speaking, “and sometimes it makes me forget how beautiful your laugh is.”

Um. Well.

Carmilla doesn't answer. She ducks her head down, making a valiant attempt at disguising her embarrassment. Laura doesn't seem to mind; she looks off into the battlegrounds and holds Carmilla's hand in silence.

 

 

 

It's not Laura's offhand compliments, nor LaF's and Will's teasing, nor Perry and Jeep's advice that causes Carmilla's  _eureka_ moment.

They're in Transfiguration, and Laura is sitting in front of her for a change. It's their last class before break, and the castle is overcome with a blizzard. Classes outside have been canceled, to her displeasure, making this her only good class of the day.

She's listening to McGonagall's explanation of the Bird-Conjuring Charm, when a random boy two tables over accidentally creates a flock of doves; big,  _fat_ doves. The birds don't just stay at the table, though, but flash towards the windows to flee and, upon hitting the closed windows, are dispelled as puffs of white feathers and faint explosion sounds.

There's a pause wherein McGonagall's eyebrows disappear under her hat, before the whole of the class explodes with mirth.

Carmilla's eyes immediately focus on Laura in the chaos – she's got her head thrown back, profile highlighted by the candles on the walls, and she's letting out delighted peals of laughter. The feathers come down from the ceiling and frame her face; her eyes are sparkling, and Carmilla realizes that she's irrevocably in love with her.

What's worse, is that she's not in the least surprised. It's less of a shock and more of a recognition – a  _yes, of course._ Pieces falling into place. Carmilla Karnstein loves Laura Hollis.

Laura turns and laughs even harder at Will's wheezing. It's not even that funny, truly, but after these weeks of constant stress, the whole of their year seems to have broken. Even JP has a hand to his mouth, and Perry's rare giggles fill the room.

Not even after McGonagall claps her hands – an ever-so-slight smile on her face – and returns to her subject, does the thrum of Carmilla's heartbeat slow down.

In fact, it has not lessened by the time they're dismissed, and the sixth-years spill out into cold, winter-y Hogwarts. She's fallen silent, lost somewhere between awe and sheepishness, for she has loved Laura for years and not known it for what it was.

Laura skips to her side, book bag on her shoulder, smiling. There's a stray yellow bird that twitters above her head, content in following her. “Let's go to dinner.”

She points to Laura's hair. “You still have...”

Laura reaches up and the bird lands on her hand. Its wings flutter once, twice, before he disappears in an tiny implosion of magic. “Aw,” she says, “I kind of wanted it to stay.”

“So Tiberius would have a friend?”

The group keeps walking to the Great Hall. Laura stands close to her, and it all feels different and  _better_ . Carmilla can't deny or pretend anymore, and it's freeing.

Her heart seizes when Laura wiggles to stand under her arm, hand on her waist. “It would have been cute, and you know it.”

“I don't know, Hollis. Bagheera would've ended up eating the bird.”

Laura scoffs. “Bags wouldn't hurt a fly. He'd have to move for that.”

She smiles a little before changing the subject. “You're still coming to Perry's house, right?”

“Yeah! It'll be fun. We can make snowmen and everything.”

Carmilla clicks her tongue. “I don't make snowmen.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot that doesn't go with the whole _mistress of the dark_ vibe you're going for.” Laura rolls her eyes. “All mysterious and unreachable.”

“You've got me all figured out, huh?”

She laughs. “I wish.”

 

 

 

After Laura leaves the room, Carmilla hits a good stride on her chess game against LaFontaine, managing to get the upper-hand without the distraction of Laura's presence.

“Okay, Kitty. What's going on?”

Carmilla looks away from the closed bedroom door and back at LaF, who's got a familiar knowing smirk. She scowls instinctively. “Nothing.”

She watches as her tower smacks LaFontaine's pawn off the table and onto the carpeted floor. It rolls to a stop by her fallen pillow. She wonders if she should start tidying up a little more, but immediately vetoes the idea. LaF's side is just as messy as hers.

“You're eyeing Laura differently,” Jeep says, perched on LaF's bed. He barely looks up from his giant book to talk. “LaF wants to know if you've finally kissed her.”

“No.”

“Do it,” LaF says, after destroying her horse. “You're wasting time.”

“Not that easy.”

“You kissed Elle, this can't be much different.”

Carmilla glares at her. “Except it is completely different.”

“Kissing isn't that complicated, is it?”

She looks at them, exasperated. “Do it and find out.”

LaFontaine shrugs. “I'm trying to help, here, Karnstein. You have absolutely no initiative. We'll be fifty by the time you ask her out.”

“You get more and more annoying with time.” Carmilla says, punctuating her statement with a crushing blow to LaF's king. She waits a second before saying, “Do you think- never mind.”

“What?” JP asks.

“Do you think she'd say yes?”

She appreciates JP's seriousness, for once. “I do, yes.”

“Good. Okay.” She clears her throat. “Should be go downstairs?”

 

 

 

It's spring when Carmilla thinks of that again.

It's been a whirlwind of a month, with exams and papers and Quidditch. She's trying to shape the Slytherin team up – to surprisingly good results – but it's coming at the expense of her free time and concentration. Thankfully, she's caught up on her work enough to take a break.

She's with Will and Perry, crossing the grounds towards the castle from a quick stroll, on a warm Friday afternoon. Perry had that frazzled, half-there look she gets when she's too stressed, and they'd forced her outside. She's now walking ahead of them, red curls bouncing in the wind.

Carmilla feels contentment settle onto her. The sky looks beautiful, the flowers are bright, and there is nothing to do for the whole weekend. For a second, she thinks it can't get better. It, of course, does; Laura walks over to them, from the general direction of Hagrid's cabin. An accident with a second-year class of Herbology caused a group of flowers to sprout tall from the grass, and Laura's head just barely pokes out of the bushes.

She catches up to them, black and gold in her robes, lips already curving up. Carmilla watches her come with a foolishly soaring heart. “Hey, cupcake.”

“Hey, Carm,” she says, and moves to brush her lips against her cheek. “How are you guys?”

Will answers, talks about his dislike of the sun; Perry spouts out something about vitamins and rays and they continue that strange mother/son bickering they're so fond of. Carmilla continues to hold Laura loosely against her, the group standing by the lake. In the distance, she hears the giant squid break the surface, its mass creating a tiny wave that almost laps at Laura's shoes.

They'd told Jeep and LaFontaine of their whereabouts, so it's not that long before they show up too; the teenagers sit by the shore, books and quills forgotten. Carmilla's legs are on Laura's lap, and they're so close her body is jostled anytime Laura laughs.

She made Carmilla a knitted hat for Christmas. It is  _not_ pretty and is a bit too large for her, but Carmilla loves it all the same; when Laura starts rummaging through her backpack at her request, she finds the yellow thing stuffed between Carmilla's Transfiguration and Potions books.

Will reaches out and gets it from a questioning Laura, and shoves it onto Carmilla's head. It almost covers her eyes and makes her look like she's got two horns on the top of her head; Will and LaFontaine laugh and she glares at them.

“I look great.” She says, defiant.

“You look _amazing_ ,” Will hums, face morphing between delight and fake-seriousness. LaFontaine, on the other hand, rocks back and forth in their laughter. “I've never seen you so intimidating.”

“Fearsome.” LaF adds.

They change subjects; she inches closer to Laura. “I do like the hat, though,” she tells her. “Carry it with me and everything.”

“You look cute in it.”

She scowls. “I don't like it anymore.”

Playful Laura is a danger to Carmilla's well-being, so she rolls her eyes, gripes a little out of habit. But still wears the yellow monstrosity because it makes Laura smile and really, who is she trying to impress? Laura has seen right through her for years.

“So,” she starts, “Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. Are you going with the Amazon and the puppy?”

“I was thinking of going with them and the Gryffindor team.”

“All right.”

“Why?” she grins. “Would you miss me?”

Carmilla's mind comes up with exactly zero excuses, so she ends up saying, “Yeah.”

Her expression shifts from joking to shy. Laura plucks out a few leaves of grass, head tilted down. “Oh.”

Carmilla swallows and steels herself for her next words, “I was wondering if you wanted to go together, actually.”

She raises her head; Laura looks delighted, a grin spreading through her face. “I'd love to.”

 

 

 

So maybe it's a thing.

Laura smiles and laughs and holds her hand at Hogsmeade, and doesn't even flinch when she refuses to enter Honeydukes. They wait outside for their friends, close to each other, talks about her letters from her dad and about Tiberius; it's easy and fun.

Neither of them have said anything about what this is. It's a toss-up on whether or not she's actually on a date; if she isn't well, she'll ask again. But Laura sits next to her, slows down so they'll walk together, tugs on her sleeve when she sees something interesting; it feels a lot like it is.

The group moves onto The Three Broomsticks. She pulls Laura's chair for her, without thinking, and they sit at the corner of the table, effectively isolating themselves from the rest. The weather is nice and the teachers are milling about; she's even seen Hagrid and McGonagall sharing a pint somewhere to the back, both of them nodding at her as she'd passed.

“Do you think you'll get it this year?” Laura's saying, a teasing lilt to her question. Her cheeks are red and her hair is lighter under the sun, and it's all nonconducting to Carmilla's train of thought.

Her arm is over the back of Laura's chair, and Laura leans back into it. “Maybe. I certainly hope so, but my keeper isn't half as good as, say, a blind kelpie on a broom.”

Laura's laugh is quiet, private. Their heads are curved to each other, Carmilla's posture separating them from the bar. No one seems to notice, which makes her wonder if they're often like this. “He's not... terrible.”

“You're the only person in Hogwarts who thinks so, cupcake.”

“You might be right.”

Carmilla smirks. “You're admitting I'm right?”

“Don't get used to it, Carmilla.”

“I'm honored.”

“Jerk.”

“And a compliment!”

Laura makes a face at her. “I am seriously considering throwing my drink at you.”

She feigns hurt. “I thought you liked me or something. Way to break a girl's heart, Hollis.”

Her heart jumps to her throat at Laura's quick reply of, “Of course I like you.”

But then it seems that Laura registers her own words, her eyes widening; she looks at Carmilla, bashful, and she's still smiling, those wretched fluttering things dancing in her stomach.

“That's good,” she says, nodding inanely. “Yeah.”

They share another quick grin and look back at their drinks. Carmilla is sure the whole of Three Broomsticks can see her blushing; and if they can, LaFontaine certainly will too. But whatever; she reckons Laura's effect on her has stopped being news a while ago.

They all walk out of the pub. Before she loses her nerve, Carmilla tugs on Laura's hand. “Do you maybe want to go somewhere?”

Laura furrows her eyebrows; Carmilla locks her jaw to stop herself from kissing her. “I need parchment.”

She relaxes. “With that long a pause, I assumed the worst.”

“Which is?” Laura tugs her away from the group; LaFontaine winks at her. It doesn't help her nerves at all.

“Madam Puddifoot's.”

They cringe at the same time. “I'm  _never_ setting foot in there.”

“Thank Merlin. The salt shakers _sing_.”

She's not sure who initiated it, but they hold hands on the way. Laura is nervous, apparently – though why is beyond her – and starts filling the silence with anecdotes and questions she answers herself. It's just as endearing as usual, and Carmilla fights a grin from spreading through her face.

They enter the store in the middle of Laura's rant about the mail coat on the third floor that sings Spice Girls; Laura stops talking to laugh at Carmilla's confusion. “It's a girl band.”

“Why are they called _Spice_ Girls?”

Carmilla continues to question her about it; Laura slips a comment about wizards living in the past as she picks up a quill. “When will you ever embrace the new century?”

She scoffs. “Tradition, Miss Hollis.”

“Yeah, well, tradition means taking two hours longer to write a potion up.”

“Never said it was practical.”

“At least we agree.”

“Twice in a day,” she hums. “That's got to be a record.”

Laura's laugh comes from behind a display case; she tugs Carmilla along, thumb drawing circles over her knuckles. “Well, you know what they say about a broken clock.”

She leans down to press a kiss to Laura's cheek. “Ouch,” she says, voice not betraying the thunderous sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

At the counter, Laura starts sorting through her sickles; Carmilla pays before she can get to it.

“Carm,” she sighs. “You don't have to pay for me.”

She gets the bag from the chuckling owner. “I know, Hollis, but I wanted to. Please let me pay for  _something_ .”

“I'm paying next time.” Laura states.

“Deal.”

The sun is about to set. Her muscles tense at the realization. She hasn't been completely comfortable in Hogsmeade for years, and the idea of hanging around the village at night is in the least unpleasant.

“Let's go back to the castle,” Laura says, to her immense relief. “I don't want to miss dinner. Besides, curfew is at seven this year.”

Carmilla bites the corner of her lip as they walk back; other students are around too. There's this aura of happiness permeating the crowd, growing as well-fed, tipsy teenagers return home. It suffuses even Carmilla's mind; she feels light-headed, thinking only of the girl by her side.

The groups all enter the gardens together; Laura tugs her to the side, by a small set of bushes, so they can wait for their friends at the entrance. A lot of people still mill about the hall, a good distance from them. She can still hear them joking and laughing, and the joy and alcohol embolden her; she pulls Laura closer, arms around her waist.

She's still smiling, woolen red sweater and Carmilla's leather jacket on her shoulders. “Did you have fun?” she asks, biting her lip.

Carmilla does not rein in her adoration, even so close to rambunctious students and the light of the Great Hall. She might as well throw it all on the line, today. “I always have fun with you, Laura.”

“That's good,” she says, a laugh mixed in.

“Did you?”

“Of course, Carm.” Laura chews on her lip, a shy look to her face. “I'm glad you asked me to come.”

“I'm glad you agreed.”

They're very close to each other. At Carmilla's words, Laura's eyes move to her lips; Carmilla's breath quickens. All these years of longing glances and stifled chuckles and silly daydreams are more than enough. A beat passes; Laura has that strange look to her face, the one she's grown to recognize as affection – more than that, perhaps – and she's sure she mirrors it.

Laura's chin rises as hers lowers, and they're kissing.

Her hands go to Carmilla's neck, and Carmilla holds her by the waist. Her chapstick tastes like strawberries and her hair whispers in the wind; she breathes out a sigh at some point. Carmilla feels as if every single cell in her body has lit up, and all of her blood has gone up to her face.

“I was going to ask if this was a date or not,” Laura says, moving away a fraction. Their foreheads still touch, though, and it makes her smile.

Carmilla's voice is but a whisper, “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Laura is not deterred by her tone. “Did you know all along?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Carmilla pulls her in, tilts her head. Laura moves infinitesimally closer, her eyes yet again lowering to Carmilla's mouth; she notes, with no small amount of satisfaction, that her pupils are blown open. “As much as I like your voice, cupcake, it's hard to kiss you while you're speaking.”

Laura smiles and meets her lips again. She takes Carmilla's face in her hands, thumb stroking her cheekbone; it's all so shy, like both of them can't believe it's happening. But Laura feels real under her palms, and she smells like leather and cinnamon; if this is a dream, it's a fucking  _great_ one.

It isn't a dream, though, because she hears the sound of Will's hollering from a distance. Laura breaks off from her and laughs; she can't bring herself to be mad at her brother when Laura looks like that. Their friends come to the door through the beaten path, and Laura tugs her so they can meet them halfway.

“I got you some candy,” Jeep tells her, shoving a bag onto her free hand. “Now you don't have to take mine.”

“Aw.”

Perry ushers them inside; a chill has begun to settle over the gardens. Laura's arm snakes around her waist and she holds Carmilla's hand on her shoulder. “I'll steal yours,” she tells Carmilla, grinning. “And you can steal his.”

“At the rate you consume sugar, this bag'll be gone by morning.”

Laura laughs. “I'm not apologizing for that.”

Instead of going straight to dinner, they all shuffle to their common rooms. Carmilla hangs back as her brothers go down the corridor for Slytherin's; Laura has stopped to talk to one of her many friends about a class, and she'd loathe to part with her for more than a few minutes.

A smile spreads through Laura's face when she turns to find Carmilla waiting for her. She hugs Carmilla, her chest expanding as she takes a deep breath. She wonders if Laura is – like her - trying to keep as many details of the night as possible.

“Does this mean you'll cheer for me tomorrow?”

“No.” She's still wearing Carmilla's jacket and the sight warms her to the core. “I'm cheering for Gryffindor. I don't like the Slytherin captain, she's so full of it.”

Carmilla hums. “That's too bad. I heard she's into you.”

Her ears are fiercely pink as Laura moves to look at her. “Oh, really?” she says, cheeky. Carmilla reaches up to boop her on the nose.

“Yeah. Heard she's liked you for a while.”

“Well, then,” Laura says as if she's making a big decision. “I suppose I could make an exception. She _is_ kind of cute.”

Carmilla shakes her head and leans down to kiss her again; Laura sinks into her. At first, they're both smiling too much for it to go anywhere, but then Carmilla nips at her lower lip, and Laura lets out something between a sigh and a moan; she's taken with the pressing need to make her do it again.

Soon, she's pressed up against a wall – for the second time today – by the Hufflepuff Commons, Laura's mouth skimming her jaw. There's a gasp lodged in her throat, begging to be let out, but she's trying not to completely fall apart this quick.

Her voice is so low she barely recognizes it. “Weren't we going to dinner?”

“This is more fun.”

Despite her words, Laura does step back; with no small amount of pride, Carmilla finds her unsteady on her feet.

 

 

 

Two days later, she's sitting on the floor by the Astronomy tower; it's a pretty, clear afternoon, the sun high in the sky. It's a sight so rare even Carmilla appreciates it, and it's enough to keep her company while Laura is stuck in Defense.

She's so lost in thoughts of taking Laura to the gardens outside that she almost misses someone sitting next to her. Glancing to the side, Carmilla tenses up.

“Hey.”

The second the voice hits her ears, Carmilla springs up to leave. A quick touch to her elbow tries to convince her to stay. Every part of her is telling her to get the hell out of dodge, but Carmilla sits down beside Lawrence, waits for it.

“What?” she asks, warily.

“Let me just- well-” Lawrence visibly searches for words to say. “I meant to apologize.”

“If this is some kind of joke-”

“It isn't.”

“I don't get it.”

Their conversation is stilted, with pauses of terse silence.

“You saved my life,” she says abruptly. “The day Hoods came for us.”

“I wasn't a hero or anything. He was a threat-”

“To Laura.”

She nods. “To Laura.”

“I figured.”

“Why- what's changed?”

Lawrence clears her throat. “You're dating her.”

Carmilla goes through a myriad of emotions in a span of seconds. “We haven't talked about it.”

“You went on a date. You're dating.”

She has no answers for that at all, especially any to give Danny Lawrence. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah.”

Carmilla gets up, hesitates; there's something to be said, but she doesn't know what it is. She shifts in place, looks down at Lawrence's unusually sullen expression. Their eyes meet for a second, and Lawrence just nods. She reckons that's the end of that.

She walks down the hall, has one foot out the door, before Lawrence yells, “Tell your brothers to steer clear from Straka. He's- bad news.”

Carmilla goes downstairs without another word.

Laura's class must've ended by then; she walks up to the corridor, watches some Puffs and Ravenclaws pass her by. Finally, LaFontaine, Perry, and Laura leave the classroom, their faces lighting up at the sight of her.

“I want to go outside,” LaFontaine informs her as she approaches. “It's a beautiful day and I refuse to waste it.”

“Okay?”

Laura throws her backpack over her shoulder and slides her hand into Carmilla's; unthinkingly, Carmilla drops a kiss to her lips. For a second, they just look at each other and grin- and then LaFontaine yelps loudly.

“Yes!” They yell, attracting the attention of several students. Carmilla groans. “ _Yes!_ ”

“Stop screaming,” she grunts. “You'll alarm the whole castle.”

“Honestly, LaFontaine.” Perry adds, though her smile threatens to split her face. She turns to them, takes Laura's free hand; Laura looks radiant and a bit bashful, and Carmilla is _wow so in love_. “I'm glad you two finally worked out.”

“Thanks, Per,” Laura says, grinning. “Me too.”

“This is getting too mushy for me,” Carmilla says, and pushes LaF, who's been doing a terrible victory dance off to the side. “I'd like to remind you that Will won your bet.”

Everyone gasps; LaFontaine puts a hand to their chest. “You  _knew_ ?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. You said December to early January, therefore you've lost.”

“Who told you?”

“I overheard.”

She starts pulling Laura and pushing LaFontaine forward. “Let's go outside.”

“I just went through so many emotions,” LaF whines, “I might need to lay down.”

“Pull yourself together.”

 

 

 

There's hardly enough time between classes and exams for Carmilla to talk – actually  _talk_ – to Laura. They see each other during meals, but they're always surrounded by people; they're only alone when one of them is walking the other to class and, well, there's not much talking in those fifteen minutes.

It's slowly eating her inside, because, while she was content with not asking about the date thing, Carmilla  _really_ needs to know whether Laura is her girlfriend or not. And she doesn't want to wait until break or until they return to school to find out.

Thankfully, Laura seems just as anxious to be with her. After a grueling couple of weeks, their last exam passes, and they can finally sit by themselves.

Laura sits on her lap as she's prone to do, and Carmilla happily holds her in place.

“You look really tired,” Laura says; her thumbs caress Carmilla's cheekbones. Her eyelids flutter in response. “Haven't been sleeping?”

“Too much to do.”

Laura leans in and kisses her, slow and soft; Carmilla's hands go up and down her sides, and she revels in the warmth of her so close to her. When they part, Laura's eyes take a little longer than hers to open, and she's shaking her head.

“What?” Carmilla asks, smiling.

“It's just that- I can kiss you now. It's kind of surreal.”

“Tell me about it. It's been _years_.”

Laura's lower lip juts out in a small pout; she tries very hard not to stare at it, and still fails miserably. “You've liked me for years?”

“It's kind of embarrassing.”

“You never said anything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Neither did you. And, well, I thought you were too good for me, so it didn't matter.”

Laura straightens up- she looks offended. “You thought  _what_ ?”

Carmilla shrinks under her glare. “You're intelligent and kind and thoughtful and I've always been mean, in a way-”

Her sigh is loud enough to make her stop. “You're an idiot, you know that?”

“You insult me very frequently,” she says, a smirk curving the ends of her mouth. “But I'm aware of some of my failings. Perry and LaFontaine _have_ been yelling at me for the past four years.”

“You've liked me since we were in second year?” Laura's smug grin is unfairly attractive.

“Yeah, cupcake. I told you it was embarrassing.”

“I've been into you since I was like, thirteen.”

Her eyebrows glue to each other. “You have?”

Laura laughs, overwhelmingly fond. “Of course. Why do you think I sought you out at every opportunity? And why did you think I didn't want to go out with Danny at  _all_ ? I-” she stops, giggles at Carmilla's dumbfounded expression, “I asked you about it in hopes that you'd maybe say something.”

Carmilla blinks once, twice. “I'm an idiot.”

“I mean, you did kiss Elle last year-”

She groans and lets her head fall onto Laura's shoulder. “I thought you were dating Danny.”

“You didn't let me _tell_ you I wasn't.”

Carmilla squeezes Laura's sides and fake-scowls at her. Laura's answer is a brief peck to her lips, and a silly smile. “Wow.”

“We could've been doing this for years.”

Carmilla smirks at Laura's grin, and pretends she's not close to shaking. “Doing  _what_ , exactly, Miss Hollis?”

“Never mind.”

“Hm?”

Laura shrugs a little, but she's not great at hiding nerves. “Dating?”

She looks entirely too cute and Carmilla drops any pretense of not being one hundred percent into it. “Let's make this clear, then, for the sake of my sanity,” she takes a deep breath and says, when Laura looks at her in expectation, “Do you want to be my girlfriend, Laura?”

Laura freezes and then lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she says, shyly.

So, yeah; Carmilla's vision might get a little blurry. Instead of saying anything – because there's a real threat that she'll make a fool of herself – she tugs Laura into her, kisses her hard. Then she whispers an 'okay' against her lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell with or at me at my [tumblr](http://camphollstein.tumblr.com/). it's full of spoilers for act one, though, so y'know. at your discretion blah blah blah.


	7. seventh year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go! last one.
> 
> matheus, thank you so very much. i'm honored to have you beta for me. lari, thanks for prodding and just being hilarious in general. and glynn- thanks for just being a darling.
> 
> this chapter has a TW for a mention of terminal illness and VIOLENCE! (i know you missed the violence. i did too.)

 

 

 

“Mattie. Can I come in?”

Matska takes off her glasses to look at her; she seems tired, but not in a bad way. She's been finishing up a deal with an Arabian carpet factory for a discount shipment for one of their shops, and it's clearly what she likes doing. Carmilla wonders, not for the first time, if Maman's death was not planned out for the benefit of her children. Or if it wasn't a small blessing carried on by some larger entity, who'd taken pity on their souls.

“Sure, darling, take a seat.”

She sits at the plush chair by her sister's desk. Mattie, under the candlelight, seems soft and young, both of which she pretends not to be. A figure composed of carefully crafted mannerisms, Mattie rarely shows her true self; only to her siblings and Betty. It's both awe-inspiring and saddening, since she's only now turned 27 and doesn't have time to _act_ her age.

Carmilla greatly admires her, though she will never tell her so.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yes?”

“The Hoods- have they made any progress on finding its leader?”

Mattie cocks her head to the side. “Are you asking this because you care, or because your little girlfriend is at the crossfires?”

“Can't it be both?”

An eyebrow raise. “I suppose. I've been keeping an eye on things, but I'm afraid there isn't much to report. My contacts show a distinct lack of leads into where they are.”

Carmilla purses her lips. “Do they think it's Vordenberg?”

She surprises herself with being able to say his name. Mattie recoils, in a rare display of emotion, and stares Carmilla down for it. “They're considering it.” She says carefully. “There were others at the attacks in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts- men more powerful than him, even.”

“It's him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I-” she breaks off and sighs. “I know him. He enjoys being in control. He had a lot of loyal followers, even outside of the Death Eaters. And he's good at talking himself up, at making himself seem more powerful than he really is.”

“You _know_ him?”

Mattie's voice is low, dangerous. Carmilla slightly retreats into herself, remembering a similar tone coming from their mother. However, her fear isn't deserved; Matska would never hurt her. She's almost ashamed.

“He came to the house. Before the war. I thought you knew.”

“I didn't,” her sister says, locking her jaw.

“It's fine,” she lies. “It's in the past. What's important is that they get him.”

“Nothing will happen to your girlfriend, you know that?”

“I _can't_ know that. She could be at an attack at any point, because no one stopped him.” She ponders over her next words. “I cannot deny, however, that I despise Vordenberg, and would very much enjoy seeing him imprisoned.”

A flash of a genuine smile passes by Mattie's face. Carmilla recalls another one so long ago, when they got their letters from Hogwarts. It looks like pride. “Vordenberg it is.”

 

 

 

Carmilla stands by the window of the Perry's living room, looks out into the quiet neighborhood. There's a familiar sense of peace to it, the one she's let be associated to the brightly colored house and its ginger inhabitants. She's tired; they'd gone out for a walk at the woods that had lasted longer than expected, and she'd been too wired to sleep well the night before.

A hum sounds from behind her; the gentle pressure of fingers at her back alert her to a presence. Carmilla relaxes immediately as arms go around her waist and Laura's body fits behind hers.

“Why're you up?”

She smiles at the soft undercurrent to her tone; Laura's voice changes when they're alone, a tone that makes her melt a little every time. “I don't know,” she replies, covering Laura's hands with her own. “It happens, sometimes.”

Laura kisses her behind the ear, and huffs a laugh as Carmilla involuntarily shivers. “What do you do when you're at Hogwarts?”

“Read. Wait until morning.”

“Really? I imagined you sneaking out and flying over the castle or something.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.” She turns around to face Laura; her cheekbones jut out in the moonlight. “Can't sleep either?”

“Too much thinking.”

The slight edge to Laura's tone has her worried. “Thinking about?”

“It's our last year,” Laura sighs. “It's strange. I don't really know the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts, and I can't imagine not being with everyone all the time.”

Carmilla shifts so she's properly hugging Laura, arms around her waist. Laura's eyes flutter shut as she leans forward to rest her head on hers; she loves the physicality of their relationship, how they're always touching and hugging and kissing nowadays. Not that they weren't touchy before, but, well, _kissing_.

“We'll all still be close to each other. The Daily Prophet is in London, and both JP and Perry are moving there for the Ministry. LaF will follow Perry anywhere. Will's going off to gallivant around as a Quidditch player, but I'm sure he'll pop in now and then.”

“And you?”

A sinking feeling comes to her; she works to not let it ruin the peace that's grown with Laura's presence. “I have some ideas, but I'm still working on it.”

She wants to say, _I'll be with you no matter what_ and _I love you_ , but she stays quiet.

Laura simply nods and nuzzles into Carmilla's neck. If she feels the quickening of her heartbeat, she doesn't say so. “Well, if you ever wanna talk about it.”

“How's your dad?” she asks quietly.

“Dad's alright-” Laura falters before returning to her peppy tone; were it anyone else, they might've missed it, but Carmilla notices. “He'll be there to send us off this year.”

Carmilla's eyes widen in the darkness. “ _What_? Does he know-”

“That we're dating? Yeah,” she says with a giggle. “What's the matter?”

“ _What's the_ \- Maybe I should ask around, find out if anyone has a flying car and go Weasley. Or maybe someone could smuggle me in- is the entrance from the Whomping Willow still a thing?”

“You're silly,” she says, and Carmilla is struck – in what feels like the hundredth time – by the affection in her words.

“I'm not. Your father could very well despise me.”

“He doesn't.”

“How do _you_ know?”

Laura laughs again, a bright sound that lights up the silent, sleepy household. She walks backwards so they'll both lie down on the couch; Laura drapes her body on top of hers, ear to her beating heart.

“Growing up, I got used to my dad being so worried all the time. Like, yeah, it's not that normal for a ten year-old to be walking around in padded _everything_ , but I was okay with that. It made him feel better, you know? But after I got into Hogwarts, and he realized that he couldn't control everything... I think Hogwarts mellowed him out. Other than the Hoods, nothing about it really scares him.”

“But there have to be things that _bother_ him.”

“Ah,” Laura rises to meet her eyes. “There were many things that bothered him. Like why I was so mopey when I didn't get a Christmas present from a certain someone-”

“I wasn't sure if you wanted- I was gonna-” Carmilla huffs and drops her head back into the couch. Laura continues to laugh. “I was dumb. And I recognize it.”

“I'm kidding, don't worry. I get it. But my dad doesn't hate you, Carm. I think that, in the end, he's gonna be ecstatic.”

“Why do you say that?” She snorts.

Laura moves so they're face to face, balancing herself on her forearms. Her hair falls like curtains around them both, and she smiles so prettily Carmilla can't quite figure out what to do with herself. “I say that,” she starts, “because all he wants is for me to be happy. And I am. Happy.”

She can't help the smile that overcomes her face. “Yeah?”

Laura seems as shy about it as she does, which is a comfort. “Yeah.”

“I'm happy too.”

Laura presses their lips together, slow and intimate, as if they're not in a house full of people. In that second, Carmilla thinks only of her.

 

 

 

Mr. Hollis is, in fact, present at their farewell. At the sight of him, Carmilla shifts in place, wonders if apparating away would be considered rude. Or stupefying herself on the sly. But Laura's got a death grip on her wrist, and she'd loathe to disappoint her, no matter the cost to personal safety and all.

He stares her down, like she's some kind of criminal. Part of her – the bit that fears people in authority, people above her – tries to get her to shrink in fear; but she digs her heels in and waits. If anyone shouldn't fault her for falling for Laura, it would be her father, right?

“Karnstein.” He says, extending a hand. She shakes it.

“Mr. Hollis.”

They nod at each other, and that's that. His focus shifts to LaFontaine and Perry; he moves to greet them with pats to their backs, and Carmilla is free to walk dazedly towards her girlfriend.

Laura takes her hand, grinning. “There. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I'm not sure.”

They, as teenagers are oft to do, talk loudly and over each other on their way to the gate. Ms. Perry attempts, for what Carmilla thinks is the fourteenth time, to explain the science behind TVs to Jeep and LaFontaine, with Mr. Hollis chuckling behind her. Mattie and Betty walk hand in hand, and she can't tell if they're attracting people's attention because of that or if everyone is simply starstruck by their bone structures. Laura pushes her cart with a grin, teasing Will for something or other with LaF's help.

Her aversion to the platform has not subsided whatsoever. The twins go in first; Jeep hugs Mattie and Betty goodbye, waves at Mr. Hollis and Ms. Perry, and disappears, while Will contritely nods and vanishes behind him. Perry holds her mother for a while before following, and LaF skips the sad part altogether, opting to sprint into the wall. Laura, ears pink, says a quick 'bye' to Mattie and is pulled into a hug by Betty; then Carmilla's the last in line, and it's her and everyone's family, and she's somewhat afraid of saying something wrong.

“Get the Quidditch Cup this year, will you?” Betty says, drawing her into her arms. At Carmilla's wide-eyed look, she continues, smiling. “I may not play it, but I kept up with your scores. Since both you and Will are on the team.”

Carmilla inhales sharply. She's always had the impression that Betty dislikes talking about magical stuff, since she can't join in; she knows it brought her a great deal of sadness when she was younger. What she says means a lot, more than she expects it to; Carmilla clears her throat, nods.

“I'll get it.”

With a last, small smile at Betty and Matska and a nod to the others, Carmilla ducks past the wall.

 

 

 

Classes are more advanced than ever, which is fun. She learns more about dueling and area spells than she's ever imagined knowing in but a month. McGonagall works them into the ground with human transfiguration, and Ancient Runes starts looking into dark alleys of magic.

Hagrid's class focuses on dragons. She's almost childishly excited about the subject. Professor Hagrid speaks of them with propriety and knowledge, in a way he has spoken of few things; sometimes he even goes off on tangents about feeding habits or migration patterns. Clearly, he's quite fond of them, and so is she.

Her notebook – a muggle one Laura bought her during break, because she'd _grown tired of the aesthetic and really would it kill you to have a pencil? –_ is filled with notes and drawings and tidbits of information Hagrid dishes out to a mostly uninterested group of students. Laura finds it amusing, looking over her shoulder and at the hastily scribbled names and potions; she says it's like seeing LaFontaine try to get a new formula down.

Laura, on the other hand, has flourished in her Charms class. If she didn't already plan on being a journalist, Laura could've easily gone into work at the Ministry or as a Curse-Breaker. Professor Flitwick is enamored by her – which is understandable – and frequently praises her in classes, making her blush, according to her friends.

She always picks up Laura after her class, leaning against the wall in wait, a loaned book about Sumerian or advanced transmutation in her hands. Laura manages to look just as happy to see her every single time.

Carmilla walks over as the doors open, apathetic expression softening as the group shows up. LaFontaine and Perry are in the middle of a discussion, as they often are, while Laura keeps trying to shove things into her overflowing backpack. Carmilla sidles up to them, taking the offending books from her hands. “Need help, sweetheart?”

A frown turns into a brilliant smile. “Hey, Carm.”

It turns victorious as her massive Potions notebook fits into the backpack, and closes it with a flourish. Carmilla throws her arm around her shoulders, smiling. “You should just get those charmed ones.”

“It's a question of pride, Carmilla.”

“You sure you're not a Gryffindor?”

“Shut up.”

“How's the training coming along?” LaFontaine asks, as Perry's daily rant about safety measures finally winds down to a close.

“It's going well. I'm confident we can win this year.”

LaFontaine shrugs. “As your opponent, I'd call bullshit. As your friend, I agree.”

“I'd be fine with a final between us, yeah. Speaking of which-”

They throw their head back and groan. “Let it die.”

“Who, exactly, won last week's Puddlemere game?” She says, disregarding LaFontaine's pout completely. “Was it the Wasps? Was it the Cauldrons?”

“You're an ass.”

She smirks at them. “I seem to recall you dancing on top of tables when Puddlemere won against us.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Now you can't handle a little ribbing?”

Laura nudges her. “I think LaF's suffered enough.”

She sighs; above LaFontaine's head, Perry is working on containing her smile. When Puddlemere finished first at the tables, Perry had to withstand their constant gloating, and – despite her inevitable denial – she's got to be enjoying this. “I suppose so. We should always be kind to our friends, right, no matter how awful their team's lead Chaser is.”

“He's just having a rough season!”

“A three year long season, really?”

LaFontaine is saved by their arriving at the Great Hall for dinner. A small crowd of first-years disperses at their sight; she's smugly amused by their looks of fear, but also ends up thinking about how damn _tiny_ they are. Were they that small when they were that age?

She voices her fears at Laura, who wrinkles her nose and says, straight-faced, “I'm still that small.”

Carmilla smirks. “That's true.”

“But _I_ have not forgotten a very short, very broody twelve-year-old that stared at me during Herbology.”

Carmilla glares at Laura, who keeps grinning at her. Instead of opening that humiliating topic again, she clears her throat and starts filling her plate. Laura kisses her cheek before doing the same; Carmilla pretends it doesn't wreak havoc on her.

 

 

 

For all her bravado, Carmilla really did not expect the amount of people interested in her relationship status. LaFontaine says there have been rumors about it for years; from a secret romance with Perry to an illicit affair with visiting Aurors or even a few professors. But since fourth-year, the grapevine has taken a special interest in her and Laura.

Ravenclaw has had a pool going for years, and Laura admits that she's been approached, more than once, about Carmilla. She says it all with a distraught expression; when pressed, she explains that their reactions at her denial were either disbelief or asking to be introduced to her.

Objectively, she understands the appeal; Laura is the darling of their year, driven and intelligent, all smiles and politeness, while Carmilla is a rude Gray Child with a penchant for breaking noses during games. But, at it's core, it's also a statement to prejudice. People have talked behind her back since she's gotten here, saying things even Lawrence would frown upon, and she's never been unaware of the glares she gets when walking with her muggleborn friends.

Carmilla isn't disheartened. No part of her believes that the wariness will dissipate while she's still at Hogwarts. Wizards take long to forget, latching onto past errors and tribulations in hopes of keeping them from happening again. They've done that since forever: the whole idea of their superiority from muggles was born from the Witch Trials and the Inquisition, and it makes sense that the populace, after the wretched violence they'd witnessed, would turn to the mindset of hating everything to do with blood purity.

It also doesn't help that theirs is still one of the oldest, most powerful pureblood families in Europe. The Karnsteins were almost like the Blacks, in a way; aristocrats with huge, sprawling mansions and castles, pulling strings while in shadows, elbows-deep into corruption and managing to escape before the blow-up. Mother had been a master at that, at setting the bomb to explode after she was safely away, so she could watch the scandals happen without being entangled in them.

There might be some validity to shadow-work. Life does seems simpler at the back of things, and she does kind of yearn for a shade of anonymity. It's not on the cards for her, however; Laura is exactly the kind of person that will rise to the top, and Carmilla will follow her to the ends of the earth.

 

 

 

There's a report of Fiendfyre at a town near Ms. Perry's house, and fear swiftly returns to their hearts. She tells them she's fine, in a letter that takes entirely too long to arrive, but Perry still cries into LaF's robes, shaking. Carmilla asks Mattie if she can reach out, check if the area is safe, though she knows even their resources can't go that far.

They don't have any proof that it was targeted at muggles, or even carried out by a Hood or a sympathizer, but the doubt is enough. It only worsens as two Hoods break out of prison by killing an Auror, and the Prophet reports there have been at least three kidnappings of muggleborns. The Ministry downplays it, as is to be expected, but even they can't quell their worries.

Professor Walsh is visibly upset; she hears the Auror killed was his friend, that they went to training together. She tries not to let her concern show, because that's probably exactly what he does not want, but Carmilla nods at him in passing, and he recognizes it for what it is. She offers condolences for a person she's never known, because he's done the same to them.

But the idea persists, that one group is chasing the other yet again, and she does not know how to help. Carmilla feels a little like she did when her mother was alive; she had to thread carefully, to avoid stepping on toes.

Yet, she's not surprised to see a bloody game against Gryffindor.

Her team is leagues better than last years'; Walters _finally_ hits his bludgers, and her new Chasers – Terry and Llewellyn – are half as good as Will. However, her trump card is little Agatha, a second year that blew everyone out of the water with her impeccable flying during Seeker tryouts. But they're green and easily startled, and lose their cool quickly.

They get a solid six-point advantage before the game turns decidedly ugly. A couple of rough shoves against the younger members of their team, a bat a bit too close to a broom, elbows; Dugan, their Chaser, subtly punches Terry, sending her almost off her seat.

They're not shaken by the booing echoing around the pitch; in fact, Straka only seems more into it. Carmilla's bat almost cracks at the next bludger he hits, aiming for her. He's clearly gone off his rocker, because Lawrence is yelling at him with vigor, and Kirsch is chasing down bludgers to keep Straka from getting to them.

Even though two Gryffindors aren't exactly trying to kill them, the others are out for blood. She's flying across the pitch to defend Agatha, who looks objectively terrified at the ferocity of their opponents, when Dugan flies directly into her.

From years of Quidditch, her grip is strong enough to keep her from falling; yet the impact rushes out the air from her lungs. He flies off to the right, going for Agatha, and behind him she can see Straka, less than three meters away from her, lining up a shot.

She drops to get away from it; in such close quarters, his shot could've very well been deadly.

Carmilla calls for a timeout; the crowd is screaming and sending off rude gestures at both sides. She doesn't stop to think who they're from, focusing on her players.

“Don't go berserk on me,” she warns them. “They're goading us.”

They all nod, in various states of displeasure. She stops to think of who they're hitting the most and it's clearly based on personal vendettas; the Karnsteins – for obvious reasons – and Terry, who is now dating Straka's ex-girlfriend and is, to Carmilla's chagrin, a Gray Child too.

At the whistle, she chases down a bludger at the same time as Straka. They come at it at milliseconds of difference; Carmilla is a better flier than him, has always been, and strikes it full-force downwards at Dugan's direction. She has but a second after the impact to brace herself, as Straka yet again tries to shove her.

Carmilla rolls out of the way, locking her thighs so she won't fall, and rushes out to meet Terry; he's flying low to the ground, keeping as much a distance between himself and the bludgers Straka viciously sends his way. The balls are so powerful that sometimes they're too fast to turn and find him, and embed themselves into the ground, before shaking it off and being sent back by Carmilla.

Terry passes to Will at the mouth of the goal; Will dives to catch Lawrence off-guard and, with the ease that's come to be expected from him, hurls the Quaffle right at her blind spot.

“ _Another spectacular maneuver by William- what a feint! Don't look so sad, Lawrence- hey, what's Dugan doing?”_

Will is still grinning – his childish, wide grin that comes from Quidditch only – when a body comes and slams against him.

From the distance she's at, Carmilla can only watch as William's frame hits the right hoop with a resounding clap. It rings in her ears as she abandons her post and zooms to his side; he starts slipping out of his broom, dizzy and out of it, but Lawrence stops it, puts a hand to his shoulder to steady him. The culprit zooms out of focus, but she hardly thinks of it.

Carmilla reaches them, eyes wild; all she sees is her brother's half-collapsed body, his chest heaving as he attempts to breathe. The whole world falls away. She reaches Will, close enough to touch his elbow, still yelling his name, and then she hears the telltale cracking sound of a bludger.

After that, it's silence.

 

 

 

Her jaw hurts like a _bitch_.

The pain is the first thing she feels at regaining consciousness. It feels like someone is lodging a nail into her bone, hammering it gleefully. It irradiates to her temples and the back of her skull, sends a cold shiver down her spine, which causes her to realize not _only_ has she apparently broken her jaw, but also her right arm and possibly a few ribs.

At the realization and subsequent pain, she lets out a groan.

Carmilla notices there had been voices before, for now it is quiet. Something touches her left hand, and squeezes; she knows that touch anywhere, and squeezes back weakly. Opening her eyes sounds like too much work, but the promise of seeing her... Carmilla blinks under the faint candlelight and slips tired eyes to meet Laura's.

“Hey,” she croaks and hisses at the pain, blind to anything but Laura's red-rimmed eyes. “What's wrong?”

At that, Laura's eyes fill with tears. Carmilla panics at the sight and attempts to get up; her chest seizes up, muscles protesting, and she falls back with a drawn-out groan. Hands caress her face, trembling and unsure, and Laura stands by her beside, face hovering above hers.

“How are you feeling?” Laura asks. Behind her, Carmilla finally sees both her brothers and the two gingers, but surprisingly enough, Lawrence and Kirsch. Night has fallen already, and it's hard to make out their expressions.

Carmilla turns back to Laura and feels her frown dissipate; she looks up at her with nothing but adoration. “I've been better, sweetheart,” she says through clenched teeth. “Don't worry about it. Is Will okay?”

Her brother appears at the other side of the bed; his right eye is painfully purple, his arm in a cast; but it's not as awful as she thought it might've been. He smiles at her wryly. “I'm okay, Kitty. Not the one who fell off their broom.”

Carmilla blinks slowly. “What?”

At this point, Laura has dragged her chair closer to sit on it. She holds Carmilla's hand to her cheek, eyes closed. She's not crying anymore, which is a relief, but Carmilla can't help but steal glances at her now and then. Jeep – who she knows was collecting himself at the corner – walks to Carmilla's side and, with a smile, ruffles her hair. She lets him.

“You fell off your broom, K,” LaFontaine tells her. They step up and pat Carmilla's foot. “Straka hit you at close range and it sent you off right off your seat. Like- you _flew_.”

“We won, though,” Will pipes up; Carmilla lets out a huff. “Which is what Kitty really wants to know.”

Perry rolls her eyes – in a manner much like Will – and comes closer. “Are you alright, though, sweetie? Do you want me to call for Madam Pomfrey?”

“I don't know,” she groans. “I think I'll pass out again in a minute.”

The Gryffindors don't say anything, and she's torn between acknowledging them or pretending she doesn't see their freakishly tall shapes by the foot of the bed. Kirsch looks _sad_ , an emotion she never expected from him, and Lawrence has brows pulled tight. She doesn't know whether it's because of the game or because Laura is still holding her hand.

True to her word, though, Carmilla's eyes start closing on their own. She tries to fight it, but soon Carmilla is, once again, asleep.

When she wakes up again, there are no stars visible in the sky. The room is pitch black, which normally would cause her fear, but there's a warm weight against her arm and hip. Carmilla tries for her wand at the table by her bed, and casts a silent _Lumos_.

Laura shifts and awakens at the light, squinting at the offending source. “You're supposed to be sleeping still,” she sighs. It's trembling and weak, like she's been crying. “It's late.”

“I got hurt again,” she states, working her jaw. It's a smudge better, probably thanks to Madam Pomfrey's huffy potion-making. “I tried not to. Sorry.”

She shakes her head at the apology. “Not your fault. Straka and his henchmen did this- Danny and McGonagall kicked them off the team. I think Kirsch punched Dugan, too.”

Carmilla tries for a laugh, ends with a pained cough. “I wish I could've seen that.”

“Yeah.” Laura looks tired, _older_. Her eyes have a quiet resignation that do not befit them.

“Love?” she whispers, and Laura's gaze rises to meet hers. “What's wrong? It's not just the fall, is it?”

“My mother died in a bed like this one,” Laura tells her. Her voice is sure and empty. “I remember. It all seemed a lot bigger then. She had cancer. It was caught too late. Took less than expected to go into metastasis. I was- what, nine? But you still remember – right? – everything.”

It is, perhaps, the saddest thing she's ever heard.

Instead of offering platitudes, Carmilla tugs on her hand. “Lie down with me,” she murmurs.

Laura blinks; there are no tears in her eyes, and she thinks it's because she's cried them all. With slow, careful movements, Laura presses against her uninjured side, curled against her arm. “There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could've _done_ , either. Magic can't cure- can't cure cancer. I looked.”

She takes Laura's hand and holds it against her chest, the beat of it sure and steady under their fingers. Laura pauses again, restarts with a less shaky voice. “Dad wasn't so high-strung back then. He let me run around with the boys from the neighborhood, laughed when I fell off a tree and got a pink cast with bunnies- I think that, after, he thought he might lose me too.”

“Thank you. For telling me.”

She feels Laura's eyelashes flutter against her bare skin, chasing tears. “I took a long time,” she breathes into Carmilla's collarbone, words coming to rattle around her ribcage.

“There is no time frame,” Carmilla shakes her head. “You tell when you're ready.”

“Okay,” Laura whispers. “Is it okay if- I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

Her words are sure and steady again; Carmilla wonders when she got so good at compartmentalizing. “All right. We can talk about- oh, Betty told me one of our neighbors now has a whole garden of fungi at the back of his house.”

A rough laugh comes from Laura. “That's disgusting.”

“I think it's quite impressive, actually. He's been working on it for a while.”

She continues the tales of Mr. Chalkley's many strange habits until Laura's breathing evens out.

 

 

 

Laura's shoulders are looser, her laugh is louder. She swings Carmilla's hand when they walk, holds her closer, smiles wider. Kisses her out of the blue, against pillars, under alcoves, just before class. She'd been holding something back, holding herself back before telling Carmilla, and now she is free from the burden, doesn't have to carry it alone anymore.

She's beautiful, everyday a little more, and Carmilla falls in love again and again and again.

She sends Betty a letter. A quick, for-her-eyes only kind of thing. It reeks of young love and silly notions and childish fear but she sends it, because she knows Betty is the only one who'll actually take her seriously. Because, well, Betty managed to get Matska, in the end, and that's the work of a hopeless romantic.

The following day, Carmilla has an arm around Laura, and is listening to Laura's train of thought. She's making a connection between hail and Giant casualties when a familiar owl drops a letter just shy of her pumpkin juice. Carmilla opens it with her free hand, the other entwined with Laura's, and nudges her in apology.

Laura waves her off. Carmilla leans down to kiss her, because she's entrancing in the mornings, eyes bright and skin shining in the gentle sun. Laura gives a surprised laugh into her mouth and briefly touches Carmilla's chin with her fingers, before someone tosses a cracker at them. She glares at LaFontaine before returning to her letter, while Laura sticks out her tongue.

She congratulates Betty on her speedy reply, until she reads Mattie's handwriting.

 

_Dear children,_

 

_I am going to ask Elizabeth to marry me. As soon as the ring is ready. Thought you should be the first to know._

 

_Love,_

 

_Matska._

 

Carmilla's eyes widen exponentially. Will, sitting in front of her, frowns and then plucks the parchment from her still hands; he, too, freezes. JP frowns at them, a confused smile on his face, and reads it over Will's shoulder.

“I won,” he says, triumphantly. “I am forty galleons richer.”

“You're gonna have to be more specific,” LaFontaine says. “We have a lot of bets going around.”

“Matska is going to propose. She's actually going to do it.” He starts to chuckle, the closest to a genuine laugh he gets when sober. _“_ I love how she just _informed_ us she would. No questions or anything. Just _hey, here's a thing, deal with it._ ”

“Finally!” LaFontaine raises their glass to the sky. “I thought I'd never see the day. They've been together for _years_.”

“I think Carm froze,” Laura says conversationally, as if that happened every day. “Honey? You there?”

She speaks, only because _honey._ “Do you think she'll force me into a dress for the ceremony?”

Even Perry grins at that. “Maybe. I'll have to take pictures of that.”

“A _pink_ dress,” LaFontaine supplies, to Carmilla's look of horror. “With flowers and a long trail. Sweetheart neckline...”

Carmilla cocks her head. “How do you know so much about dresses?”

LaF smiles widely. “Perry reads a lot of wedding magazines. Sometimes I get a little tired of alchemy talk.”

“You never fail to surprise me.”

Laura turns to her after the topic changes to Will in a tux; she's got a small twinkle in her eye. Carmilla never really knows what it means. “You don't like dresses?”

“It's not that I don't _like_ them. I would prefer to not wear one.”

“So you wouldn't wear a dress at your wedding?”

Aha. There's the twinkle. “Um- depends on what my bride is wearing? I don't know.”

“No preference?”

She _feels_ the palms of her hands grow sweaty. Carmilla scrambles for a comeback. “For what I'm wearing?”

“For what she's wearing.”

“If it were up to me, she'd be wearing nothing.”

Laura opens her mouth, closes it; her ears turn pinkish. Carmilla snickers.

“That's- unpractical.”

“Depends on your end goal.”

“Oh my God.” Laura hides her face behind her hands, leaning forward at the table. “You're terrible.”

“That's not a nice thing to tell your girlfriend, cutie.”

“Not like that,” Laura waves one of her hands at the air, still avoiding eye-contact. “You know what I meant.”

“There are several interpretations for that statement. I could be terrible at many things.”

“You're not terrible at anything, I'm just embarrassed and- never mind. Just embarrassed. Yup.”

“And what?”

“Nothing.”

“And _what_?”

Her hands leave her face; Laura glares at her, a small pout coming to her lips. “I'm- ugh.”

Carmilla takes pity on her. “C'mon, I'll walk you to class.”

She gets Betty's letter during breakfast the following day. Everyone thinks it's a follow up on the proposal, but it's surely Carmilla's reply, and she's loathe to let anyone read it. Making up some excuse about career talk, she tucks it into her pocket.

 

 

 

They go to the Karnstein Manor for Christmas.

It's decked out in all manner of decorations, from blinking lights to holly, and it's Betty's pride and joy. When the trio arrives, shaking the dust from their robes, they spot the gleaming ring on her finger almost immediately; that sets off a conversation lasting almost an hour, in which they all get a tad emotional.

The day after that, the others show up. Ms. Perry, Mr. Hollis, and Mr. LaFontaine were to come for the grand Christmas feast, but their offspring was adamant on coming early. There's a sense of urgency to their year, now that it is their last.

LaF and Perry, after dropping off their bags, curl up together in a chair by the fireplace, with JP sitting at LaFontaine's feet and Will perched on a nearby sofa. Carmilla keeps to her feet, waiting patiently for the flickering of the flames.

She takes a second to look at them. Back when they'd all met, they were a bunch of skinned-knee, confused children; now they're all supposed to find their career paths, their true callings, and become adults. It sounds all so surreal.

The fire turns green and then spits out a person. Laura, in an owl sweater and sneakers, lands solidly on her feet, grinning proudly at her new-found skill. Rolling her eyes, Carmilla embraces her, takes her soft lips on hers, like she's been waiting to do the whole day.

“Welcome back, my darling,” Carmilla hums against Laura's mouth.

“Hi. Can we go make out in your kitchen, please?”

Laura ruffles LaFontaine's hair and says a passing 'hi' to everyone at the living room, before being dragged by Carmilla into the pristine room. She laughs as Carmilla hides them behind the fridge, and gasps when Carmilla side-steps her lips in favor of kissing her way down her neck.

“We keep getting interrupted at school,” Laura says into the room, as if she needs to explain anything about this to Carmilla. “And- ah- I'm tired of it.”

“I know,” she says, going up to whisper the words into Laura's ear. “I want to be alone with you for a second.”

Laura lets out a sharp exhale as Carmilla nips at her earlobe. Her try at a sentence breaks off as lips find her neck again, searching for the spot that left her knees buckling two weeks earlier. When Carmilla starts sucking a bruise into sensitive skin, Laura downright _moans_ , high and breathy, and tugs at the hair at the back of Carmilla's head.

She instinctively pushes a thigh between Laura's legs and presses her entire body against hers; Laura takes Carmilla's head in her hands and kisses her again, languid and sure and _hot_. Carmilla's skin is on fire, hands creeping up Laura's sweater, sliding over the smooth plane of her abdomen.

A bang comes from the living room and they startle back to reality; Carmilla's hands stop on their tracks, and Laura releases her lower lip with a soft 'pop'.

“I hate,” Carmilla whines as she tries to regain her breath. “So many things, right now.”

Laura looks at her and swallows. “Yeah. Me too.”

That becomes a theme, throughout the following week. Laura and Carmilla get just enough time together for things to get _serious_ , and then someone or something interrupts them; Perry almost catches them with Laura's hand up Carmilla's shirt, and LaFontaine still looks at them with sly eyes after a moment in a broom closet.

It's not that she's not glad everyone is at the Manor – she likes that the place is full of people and laughter _–_ but Carmilla is a teenager with a really hot girlfriend, and this is all very taxing on her.

The day before Christmas, when all the parents are scheduled to arrive, Carmilla lies awake, staring at the ceiling. There's faint rock music coming from William's room, and it provides a good backdrop for her angsty teen moping about. Not that she'll ever call it that.

A tap comes from her window. She walks up to see; sticking her head out, Carmilla finds Laura perched on a broom – one of the spare ones they keep at the other wing – and smiling at her.

“Hey.”

Carmilla smiles, shy. “Hey. Come in.”

She tugs Laura inside, through the tall and wide windows of her room, and locks it behind her. Laura shakes off the small bits of snow that fell on her way there, starts talking about barring charms for doors and counter-jinxes; Carmilla hears none of it, and waits a second before pulling Laura in by her flannel shirt.

It's a bit awkward and fumbling at times, but Carmilla doesn't care. All she thinks about, all she can see is _Laura Laura Laura;_ she drinks in the soft moans, the small whispers of her name, broken syllables uttered into skin and sheets. She's lost in how much she loves her and how happy and even honored she is to be in that moment, to be able to be the one to hear and see and _make_ Laura fall apart.

 

 

 

(The next day, Laura keeps to her side, mellow and sighing, honey skin melting into hers. Carmilla whispers at her ear, nuzzles against her neck, so blissfully happy she almost forgets where she is at times.)

(She doesn't meet Mr. Hollis' eyes for a solid two hours.)

 

 

 

The peaceful mood doesn't last long. Their NEWTs are approaching fast, and the professors are dropping more and more work into their lap. It's almost as if they've moved to the library, as they barely leave for meals. The whole of their year sees just as stressed out, with people selling vials for staying awake and powders for focus; Perry and JP nip them right quick, though Will surreptitiously takes some Wide-Eye potion from his brother's bag.

He stays awake for two days straight before collapsing, face-first, into his Astronomy chart.

Carmilla curses the day she decided to take Ancient Runes; the professor, though brilliant, has absolutely no idea of how long it takes to translate three parchments, and she has to stay up and skip breakfast to deliver them. She glares at the offending pages after writing them down, and as soon as she's free, Carmilla sleeps through her two afternoon classes.

Which – _of course_ – leads to being late to more homework, and more nights awake trying to finish it. Carmilla has no idea of how her girlfriend is powering through everything; Laura must've made a pact with some out-of-this-world entity to have that much steam.

After a particularly grueling Transfiguration class, they move their study session to the lake, in one of the first sunny days since the start of spring. Laura curls up into Carmilla's lap and promptly falls asleep, tiny snuffling sounds coming from her now visibly exhausted frame.

“Don't talk too loud,” LaFontaine instructs Will. He nods without taking his eyes off a large tome in his hands. “'Puff hasn't slept in days.”

“I've been trying to make sure she's eating,” says Carmilla, “But Perry hasn't made much headway into getting her to sleep.”

“You don't say. At least she's finished for the week.”

“What's the spell you're having trouble with, again?”

LaFontaine rubs their face with more force than necessary, apparently so tired their face has gone numb. “All of them.”

“Shit.”

“But it's really the color one? I know McGonagall has explained it like every single day, but I just can't seem to get red to stick. And I know that's the one they'll test us on, because McGonagall always mentions it-”

“I think it's your movement, the problem. The gesture is a bit awkward.”

Carmilla lets LaFontaine test the spell on her, because _what the fuck, right_ , and when Laura awakens again, it's to a Carmilla with half-pink hair.

She blinks owlishly. “How long was I asleep?”

 

 

 

There's a moment, right before Carmilla gets a solid hit on a bludger, where she feels the shift in the air. The cracking of wood against brass and the sharp sound of a connecting shot; it sends a shock of adrenaline down her body, makes her focused and quick.

She feels it the moment the first snap comes.

They're at the path to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade; it was a normal, post-classes outing, the crowds excited for the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game the next day. A peaceful feeling, born out of butterbeers, candy, and company, made the groups slower, louder in their innocent joy.

So, of course, they would've come now.

There's no actual reason for their appearance. They must've walked a lot to get there, especially with the counter-measures Hogwarts has and the ones created by Aurors after the second-break in. It must've taken weeks or months to plan.

When the following snapping sounds come through, Carmilla's heart has already seized up. With a wild look at her brothers and LaF, she tucks a shocked Laura between her and Will, and they start running with the trampling crowd towards the castle. Behind them, Jeep and LaF rush Perry forward.

A voice, a chillingly familiar voice, comes through the screaming and yelling: “Gather them!”

The students start running to the right, the opposite way from where most of the Hoods are coming from. Flashes of curses and jinxes fly over their heads, hot and crackling, and hit random targets; her classmates drop like flies, and her stomach rolls at the idea of them not getting up again.

They're at the back, too close to the Hoods. Though their screaming must've brought out some of the professors, there are at least sixty dark figures at the garden, all of them with covered faces – except one, the only one she wishes she didn't see.

They haven't covered even half of the way when a stray spell hits Laura. Carmilla watches in horror as her body crumples into itself, tight ropes around her limbs. She screams and scrambles back; Will takes Laura into his arms, the second they both notice the attacker is close enough to hit again.

“Take her,” Carmilla orders him. Will shakes his head vehemently, lips poised to protest. She shoves him forward. “I can do this. _Go!_ ”

Will turns and sprints towards the castle. Carmilla knows Laura will be _pissed_ at her, when she's free from the ropes, and that she'll run back to try and help; but she also know that this is a battle she needs to fight on her own.

“Ah! Karnstein!”

A crooked, wicked smile distorts Vordenberg's face. When she'd been a child, Vordenberg simply looked like an old man, with few wrinkles and a shiny bald head; now, he looks horrifying, eyes sunken and bones sticking out. His wand trembles as he points it to her, and she nearly flinches as memories return to her.

Carmilla doesn't answer; she releases a barrage of spells against him blindly. The anger she's always kept slumbering comes tumbling out into her throat, makes her burn in fury. They exchange spells at a rapid pace; she almost gets knocked off her feet a few times, gets a gash on her shoulder, but she keeps at it, with a persistence surprising even herself.

He's almost stumbling through his movements, so deep into dark magic that it has swallowed him whole. But he's still shockingly upright, sending jet black and crimson rays at her direction. At the sight of her fighting back, a few seventh-years double back to delay the Hoods' movement inward; Vordenberg cackles at them.

“We shall take Hogwarts,” he bellows over the cacophony of the following duels. “We shall return it to its glory! Wipe the filth-”

She yells, “Oh, _fuck off,_ ” and levels him with a half-forgotten curse. It hits him right in the chest, and his body flips back thrice before landing with a deafening crunch.

But Vordenberg gets back up, and she's thrown two feet back by his answering spell; it bursts through her shielding charm.

His mouth is turned down in preparation for what she's sure is another _'traitor to your people and blood'_ and she throws curses again, silent and irate, uncaring. He drops to the ground after two hit his face and chest, wand outstretched; when he raises it, the color of his curse is terribly familiar.

But, to his shock, Carmilla only briefly weakens. Vordenberg is weaker, yes, but Carmilla's body still remembers the pain, knows how to counter it. She grinds her teeth together.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Vordenberg casts again, desperate.

Carmilla falls to her knees, tasting blood on the back of her throat. On the distance, she hears the continuing sounds of fighting, screams and bangs, and attempts to focus on them; but it's like she's being torn apart from the inside, like her muscles are being torn and tensed and set on fire.

The memory of the last time- it's enough to force her up. In less than a second, Carmilla dodges another spell and stands.

He tries to get up, but his body has gone so frail it shakes at the attempt. Carmilla feels no remorse at pelting him with spells, feels a sick sense of satisfaction at his feeble tries at dodging them; blood starts seeping from his robes, pouring onto the dewy grass, and Carmilla thinks this is the closest she'll ever get to vengeance.

Someone picks her up, takes the wand out of her hand. Hagrid's coarse beard comes to her face as he turns her into his arms, holds her closely, carries her halfway to the castle.

“Go inside,” he orders; squeezes her shoulder, wipes away a tear. “Hollis'll be waiting.”

She lets her feet take her back; the sight of the Great Hall's lights, the figures by the door, make her run the rest of the way, and she doesn't stop until their faces come into view. Carmilla barrels into Laura, accepts the cursing and the crying, and holds her tightly to her own crumbling form.

 

 

 

Carmilla blocks out everything but her.

There are several empty classrooms filled with students. The whole castle is awake, even two hours after the Hoods have been arrested. A tense, disbelieving quiet falls over the castle's residents, leaves them pacing and crying at the corners; there have been no deaths of students so far, though several have been sent to St. Mungo's.

Carmilla is snug at a corner, face buried into Laura's neck as she tries to breathe. She's drowning, Vordenberg's face burned into her eyelids; but Laura is warm and solid in her lap, she speaks at her ear, kisses away her tears. She thinks, she knows, Laura touches her holy.

When it all dies down, and at least twenty tired students fall asleep on conjured mats at the classroom, Carmilla doesn't let go of JP's hand. Laura has thoroughly chewed her out, fists clenched in Carmilla's shirt; she falls asleep like that, on top of her, head at her chest.

No one wakes up while she silently cries.

 

 

 

People don't leave Hogwarts. No one drops out, no parents' plea is answered. The students stand their ground, for some silly reason or other, but they all stay.

Vordenberg had led the Hoods in a fool's errand; in his corroded mind, he believed them strong enough to actually get the castle. His followers, blinded by pride and empty promises of glory, had followed him to doom. At the end, the Hoods were just another group of idiots with illusions of grandeur.

McGonagall delivers a somber, if haggard speech the day after the attack. Her shoulders are sagging, and, not for the first time, Carmilla feels a stab of compassion for a woman who has seen too much violence. The NEWTs and the OWLs are delayed for two weeks, and students are granted leave from class.

Vordenberg is dead. Hagrid is supposedly the one responsible, though she knows, somewhere in her gut, that he did not kill him. But she still treks to his cabin, in her father's old black sweater and that yellow beanie, and sits for tea while he talks of his giant brother and of the spider's nest somewhere deep inside the forest.

“I thought the Acromantula thing was a myth,” she says, small hands curled around her oversized mug.

Hagrid chuckles, full-bodied and earnest. “That's wha' we want yeh to think.”

Carmilla's mouth twitches momentarily, as she prepares herself for her next question. “Professor-”

“Just Hagrid,” he stresses.

“ _Hagrid_ ,” she tries again. “I want your opinion on something.”

He leans forward in his huge table, regarding her seriously. “Wha' is it?”

“I-” she takes a deep breath. “I've been thinking of going into dragonology.”

Her nervousness fades at the delighted, wide grin that comes to Hagrid's face. He pats her hands – closer to smushing them than anything – and nods a couple of times, before saying, “Always thought yeh'd end up with zoology work, Karnstein.”

She actually grins back at that, chest lighter than it's been for weeks. “Yeah?”

“I'll talk to some folk for yeh. Good word and all that.”

Her small smile brings a spark to his eyes, one that only increases at the tiny knock at his door. She thanks whomever it is, for the seconds it gives her to regroup.

He opens it to find Laura, in Carmilla's spare Quidditch jersey. “Can I come in?”

She walks to the couch Carmilla is in; it's so cushy that Carmilla is sunk into it, her knees barely poking out of it. Laura touches her arm as a warning, then sits next to her, curling into Carmilla's free arm.

A knot loosens around Carmilla's chest. “I thought you were sleeping in today.”

Laura shrugs. “Nightmare. Something about giant cats, I think. Probably just stressing over the NEWTs.”

Hagrid returns with her cocoa. They continue to listen to his stories, Laura much more into it than Carmilla; she and Hagrid end up having a long discussion on the stigma of cross-species breeding in animals and he seems very touched that Laura sides with him.

Carmilla ends up watching her, as she's oft to do; memorizes her hands and the slope of her neck, how her voice gets progressively higher as she works through a sentence, and how she listens with her whole body, leaning forward and resting her head on her hand. She knows, down to her bones, that she has loved and will love none but Laura.

Three hours later, Hagrid hugs them goodbye – a bit tighter than usual, making Carmilla's ribs protest – and they set off back to the castle. Carmilla's heart thumps thunder into her veins, fills her with a courage she does not possess, and a sense of urgency she has squashed for too long.

“I'm gonna work with dragons,” she states. Laura's head turns to her and her feet stop, making them both stand in the March wind. “That's what I want. There are plans for a new sanctuary at the very north of Scotland and- well, I think Hagrid'll get me an internship. My grades are good enough. I can apparate back to London at the end of the day, at any rate, and there's always flooing, too. Maybe I can room with LaFontaine, keep them company or-”

She stops at Laura's grin. “I expected as much.”

Carmilla frowns. Laura's hands come up to cup her cheeks, and a thumb traces her bottom lip. She struggles not to close her eyes. “What?”

“I've seen the books on them you get from the library when you think we're not watching,” Laura says, smiling. “You and LaFontaine spent two hours talking about an antidote to some South American dragon's venom-”

“Peruvian Vipertooth.”

“Yes, that one. You light up when they come up in class and when they're dropped into conversations and- yeah, I thought you might want to do that.”

Carmilla laughs self-consciously. “I guess I get excited.”

Laura's eyes look like molten lava behind her eyelids, warm and _happy_. Carmilla finally winds her arms around her waist. “I'm glad you found something you want to do, though.”

“As much I'd love to, I couldn't just follow you around all day, could I?”

“I wouldn't have a problem with that.”

Laura leans in and presses their lips together, licks into her mouth until Carmilla starts getting lightheaded. Then she drops feather-light kisses to her cheeks and forehead, making affection bloom and spread through Carmilla's torso. The three words she so desperately wants to say are lodged on her throat, threatening to get out.

In a manner that surprises even herself, Carmilla breathes them into the air, lets the grass and clouds be witness to her confession. “I love you,” she says, sincere and vulnerable. “You know, right?”

The fear clawing at her all but vanishes at Laura's squeal and subsequent tackling into the ground. Carmilla hardly feels the impact as Laura kisses her silly, takes the air out of her lungs, and says it back a thousand times over between their lips.

“This is the best day of my entire life,” she tells Carmilla matter-of-factly, hands on her back and grin stretching against her collarbone. “God- I love you so much. So, so much.”

“Laura. You're going to make me cry if you keep this up.”

“I love you,” she says again, dropping open-mouthed kisses to Carmilla's neck. She groans at the feeling, her skin burning with a telltale blush. “I love you, Carm. Wow. I love you a lot.”

Tears sprout out of Carmilla's eyes and she covers her face with her hand, torn between embarrassment and earth-shattering relief; Laura's laugh comes a little shaky too, and she ends up holding her tightly, their bodies humming with delight.

 

 

 

The common room is almost empty, by the time she makes it down. She drops her luggage by her favorite chair, sits down with Bagheera at her lap. At the window, merpeople occasionally come to wave them goodbye, and make funny faces at those who do not want to leave.

Will plops down on the armchair by her side. He's wearing one of his many Chudley T-shirts, hair surprisingly not gelled back, spiking at all directions. “The only thing I won't miss,” he grunts, putting his feet up on the very scuffed coffee table, “Is the cold in this room. Salazar was a son of a bitch.”

“Because of the lack of heating?” Jeep scratches at his beard as he comes to sit to Carmilla's right.

“No, for many reasons. This is just one of them.”

“I'll tell you what _I_ won't miss,” JP says. “The sound of first-years in the morning.”

Both his siblings nod solemnly. Carmilla even shudders. “Yes. And their _questions_.”

“Why do we have this, why don't we have that?” Will mimics their voices, the high pitch hilarious coming from him. He waits until they stop chuckling to say, “though it was amusing to lie about everything. Remember when I convinced that Gryffindor that cursing during a spell made it stronger?”

“Merlin, Will. Walsh looked like he was going to skin you.”

“Yeah, but it was fun. Besides, the points he docked didn't make any difference.”

Carmilla locks Bagheera into his cage with a triumphant huff. “Thanks to _me_.”

Will blows her a kiss. “The best Quidditch Captain there ever was.”

Jeep looks at his pocket watch and springs to his feet. “We should be going upstairs.”

The trio lugs their bags and trunks up the dungeons' stairs; from the Entrance Hall, she can see the Slytherin banners. She can still hear the cheering from their table as McGonagall announced Slytherin as the winner of both the Quidditch and the House Cups. Her housemates emerge with them too, and exchange quiet goodbyes and good-lucks, before going down towards the station.

They wait for the others to arrive. LaF is the first, levitating their trunks behind them. A half-melted cauldron holds a number of books they've gotten from their Ravenclaw friends, and they babble on about their plans to go to France with Perry. Carmilla ruffles their hair and they pause, glare at her, and then continue to talk to Jeep.

When Perry and Laura show up, Will steps up to help Perry with her luggage. She looks frazzled and sad, looking about with red eyes. “Why do you have so much stuff?” Will grunts, picking up her trunk.

Carmilla takes Perry's other bag, throws it over her shoulder, and takes Laura's hand. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Carm,” she answers, stretching to kiss her cheek. “Are we still on time?”

“Yes. And besides, if we weren't, we could always apparate.”

“Oh, yeah. I always forget. It feels weird, though.”

She doesn't know whether Laura is talking about the spell or about their leaving. There is a slight tremble to her voice, like she's just at the edge of crying, and Carmilla tries to kiss it away.

“Stop being in love for a second,” Will whines, tugging at Carmilla's jacket. “I want good seats.”

The group walks down the Hogwarts path for the last time. Carmilla eats a Cauldron Cake she'd stolen from LaFontaine as they ask both her and JP about Mattie's wedding; Will links his arm with Laura while they listen to Perry talk about her mother's new business partners. There is no hurry, nowhere to rush to, yet they get to the Hogwarts Express in record time.

They end up in the same cabin as Kirsch and Lawrence; the Gryffindors aren't half as hostile as they used to be. Lawrence is even _nice_ when they end up talking about Quidditch and she reveals herself a Harpy fan, teaming up with Carmilla and an amused Laura against LaFontaine and Jeep; Kirsch is even a Chudley Cannons fan and religiously defends his team, which pleases Will immensely.

When the train starts moving, though, Carmilla sinks into her window seat.

“What's with the cute pout?” Laura asks, nuzzling infinitesimally closer to her.

“I'm not cute,” she grumbles, though she knows it's for naught. “I'm fearsome.”

“Sure.”

She doesn't have to look at Laura to know she's rolling her eyes. “I just remembered how much I _hate_ this fucking train.”

Laura's shoulders shake with amusement. “Good thing you'll never be in it again. Until Hagrid retires, at least.”

“It'd be cool to give Care of Magical Creatures,” she ponders. “I'd keep the Blast-Ended Skrewts. They're very amusing.”

“ _Amus-_ of course. You _are_ a fan of dragons. What did I expect?”

“Aw, come on. Even you were fond of those little death creatures.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Carmilla smiles down at her, kisses her forehead. “I'd bring them home and everything.”

“Not if I'm there.”

The train ride is shorter than she wants it to be. Soon, they're leaving the greenlands and entering the loud and crowded station; they wait until most underclassmen leave their carts to walk out, bags in hand. Carmilla holds Laura's hand as they cross the threshold of the Platform 9¾ for the last time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all!
> 
> thanks to everyone who powered through this, really. i know there were problems and that it's not like groundbreaking or anything, but i do hold this universe v close to my heart, and it makes me really happy to see you enjoy it, too.


End file.
